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SONGS OF THE 
CELTIC PAST 

By 
NORREYS JEPHSON O'CONOR 




Class ^So^g .q 
Book .CU>S'7 
Copyright N? 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



SONGS 

OF 

THE CELTIC PAST 



BY THE SAME AUTHOR 



THE FAIRY BRIDE 

A Play in Three Acts 

Boards, $1.00 net 

BESIDE THE BLACKWATER 

Boards, $1.00 net 

CELTIC MEMORIES and OTHER 

POEMS 

Boards, $1.00 net 



JOHN LANE COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK 




Saint Patrick's Vision 



SONGS 

OF 

THE CELTIC PAST 



BY 



NORREYS JEPHSON 9'CONOR 

AUTHOR OF "BESIDE THE BLACKWATER," "THE FAIRY BRIDE," ETC. 



Ocus mo it did stu amail atomcoiasiu 
And my desire is for thee, since thou hast possessed me. 

The Second Battle of Moytura 



FRONTISPIECE 
BY 

EMILY WOOD COLBY 



NEW YORK 

JOHN LANE COMPANY 

MCMXVIII 



<K 



& c,\ 



< 






Copyright, 1917, 
By Norreys Jephson O'Conor 



All rights reserved, including rights of production and adaptation of 
the dramatic material in this volume. The dramatic rights are con- 
trolled by Mr. Norreys J. O' Conor. Application for the right of pro- 
duction, whether amateur or professional, should be made to John 
Lane Company, 116 West 3 2d Street, New York City. 



hi£ 



7 

DEC 28 1917 
&CLA479? 



TO 

GRACE 

Who Has Made All Songs New 

These songs of Erin's love, because 

You love her too; 
And better must I sing her praise 

For love of you. 



Acknowledgment is made by the Author to 
the Editors of: The Art World, The American 
Scandinavian Review, The Bellman, The Book- 
man, The Churchman, The Colonnade, The Con- 
ning Tower, The Cork Holly Bough, The Designer, 
The Dublin Review, The Living Church, The New 
Republic, and The Sonnet, in reprinting poems 
which first appeared in their magazines. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

SONGS OF THE CELTIC PAST 

Songs of the Celtic Past ... n 

The Story of Ailill and Etain . 13 

The Monk Pauses in His Labor . 55 

In the Monastery 58 

The Song of Angus and Caer . 59 

In May 61 

Blackfoot the Stag 62 

CORMACS CHRISTMAS: A MYS- 
TERY 63 

MORE MODERN MELODIES 

In Memoriam: Francis Ledwidge . 105 

The Response of the Shee . . 107 

On a Windy Morning . . . . no 

In Madison Square in 

Summer's End 113 

Reveille 115 

Good-bye 116 

In Remembrance of Cork . . . 118 

Maid of the West 120 

Lullaby for a Wakeful Child . 121 

vii 



viii CONTENTS 

PAGE 

From a Garden Bench .... 122 

To One in Kerry 123 

At Parknasilla 124 

The Listeners 125 

The Stowaway 126 

To One Also Long Absent from 

Ireland 128 

Memories 129 

In the Moonlight 131 

If I Had Wings 132 

Homeward Bound 133 

A MASQUE OF FLOWERS ... 135 

SONGS OF LOVE AND LIFE 

At Eastertide 161 

Hortus Inclusus 162 

Light of My Heart 163 

Oblation 164 

On the Beach 166 

The Wind is in the Tree-tops . 167 

Service 168 

All Saints' Day 169 

To the Mother of My Children . 170 

Evensong 171 



SONGS 

OF 

THE CELTIC PAST 



Songs of the Celtic Past 

Songs of the Celtic Past, 
Born in an ancient age, 
Our hearts will beat more fast 
For this, our heritage, 

The heritage of song 
More powerful than Time, 
Which weaves a nation's wrong 
With wondrous wreaths of rhyme; 

The passion and the pride 
Of centuries ago ; 
The bare, wet mountain-side; 
The valleys white in snow; 

The stag who trembles, cold 
Before the icy wind ; 
And the wild duck's sorrow, told 
As he leaves the marsh behind; 
II 



Songs of the Celtic Past 

The foxglove, straight and tall; 
The blackbirds' carolling; 
The mountain, shining, green ; 
The scent and sound of spring; 

The clash of sword on shield, 
As armed men march down, 
Driving from field to field 
Scared cattle, black and brown; 

Harmony of music, sweet 
As countless birds in tune, 
Or the river, leaping, fleet, 
In early days of June; 

Music from out a hill, 
Where in the sun are seen 
Fairy figures, never still, 
And flitting garments green; 

Last, Love, which fills the world 
With its immortal breath, 
Here in these songs impearled, 
Never to taste of Death. 

12 



THE STORY OF AILILL AND 
ETAIN 



Foreword 

When I first read the story of Ailill and 
Etain in Irish, I was attracted not only by the 
y glamour and picture of a bygone civilisa- 
tion brought before me like figures in a crystal, 
but by the unknown author's attitude towards 
love. The prominence of the love element in 
Irish distinguishes it from other early literatures 
— from the Norse sagas, for instance, or the 
Anglo-Saxon epic, Beowulf, where the love ele- 
ment, when present at all, is secondary to the 
joy of fighting and physical prowess. Irish writ- 
ers, while enjoying battle and manly deeds, un- 
derstand, with that grasp of spiritual realities 
significant of their race, the importance of love 
in the life of man. The tale of Deirdre, and 
others perhaps better known to the reading public 
than the one I have used as the basis for my 

15 



Foreword 

poem, show human passion refined and ennobled 
by its intensity, and by the frank attitude of the 
author towards it. Among Irish love stories, 
that of Etain is the only one I know typifying 
spiritual love, or perhaps spiritualised would be 
the better word — for a love which triumphs over 
the infirmity of nature, even though aided by 
divine interposition, (and who else is the Fairy 
Midir but a messenger of a power higher than 
man?) must have become spiritual. The han- 
dling of the triangle situation by a writer cen- 
turies ago, and his belief in the sacred obliga- 
tions of marriage, is significant. 

The spiritual element of the story of Ailill 
and Etain chiefly interested me, and it is this I 
have endeavoured to bring out in my poem. I 
believe, however, that I have done no violence to 
the plot of the story; I have merely added land- 
scape background and striven to deepen contrasts 
already there. The version of the Tochmarc 
Etaine, "Courtship of Etain" (as the story is 
known to Celtic scholars), which I have fol- 
lowed, is that printed in Windisch's Irische 

16 



Foreword 

Texte, Vol. I, from the British Museum Manu- 
script, Egerton, 1782. Because this seems the log- 
ical ending, and all that follows detracts from 
the unity of the central theme, I have carried the 
story only as far as the end of paragraph four- 
teen, where occur the words "The stories of Eo- 
chaid and Etain are here related." The courtship 
plays so small a part both in the original Irish 
and in my adaptation, that I have chosen The 
Story of Ailill and Etain as the most fitting title. 
I must acknowledge here my debt to Professor 
F. N. Robinson, of Harvard University, under 
whose guidance I read the Tochmarc Etaine, and 
who first interested me in early Irish literature. 
Those who wish to compare my poem with the 
original version of the story will find both the 
Irish text and an English translation in the Re- 
vue Celtique, Vol. Ill: pp. 350-60. Herewith 
is a guide to the pronunciation of names: 

Th is pronounced as in then 
Eochaid— Yok' ith 
Eocraid — Yok' rith 
17 



Foreword 

Ailill— Al' yil 
Etain — Edin 
Etar — Edar 
Midir— Mithir 



18 



The Message 

Green are the summits of the distant hills, 
And green the pastures and the nearer fields 
Where sleek brown cattle through the springtide 

day 
Browse in contentment, rest beneath a hedge 
Of golden gorse. White are the hawthorn 

trees, 
Or pink with bloom; now dark, now vivid, 

glow 
The shades of grass and tree, as the gay Sun 
Is hidden by the clouds which throng to pay 
Him homage, seeks to show his majesty, 
Thrusting apart the courtiers who would dim 
His splendour. 

Such the sight Eochaid the King 
Beholds from the high top of Tara Hill, 
Where now he walks beside the royal rath, 
Gazing, impatient, toward the distant hills. 

19 



The Message 

Six months have pass'd, autumn has waned to 

winter, 
Winter wax'd to spring, since Eochaid, newly 

crown'd, 
Summon'd the kings of Erin with their wives 
To feast at Tara in the High King's hall. 
Courteous their answer; but how should they 

bring 
Their royal consorts to a royal lis 
In which there dwelt no queen to welcome them ? 

The King Eochaid had bowed forthwith to cus- 
tom, 
And sent his messenger, Ailill, his brother 
And the poet of his court, to seek a bride 
Fitting the pomp of Erin's highest king. 

Six months have pass'd; and all this weary time 
Eochaid has grown more lonely in his state. 
The winds howled round the hall, and there was 

none 
To share his loneliness, with her sweet smile 
To change his care to pleasure, and the waste 

20 



The Message 

Of winter to the loveliness of spring. 
His poet too was gone upon the quest, 
The poet's everlasting quest of Beauty. 

Now word has come that Ailill will return 
Ere twilight; and the ever-restless King 
Has paced for hours around the royal rath, 
While toward the highest mountain-top the Sun 
Is gone full half his journey, and the shadows 
Creep across the fields. Then, as the hundredth 

time 
The King turns at the corner of the lis, 
There is a flutter on the darkening fields, 
A moving object, and a man at last. 

Tossing his bridle to a waiting kern, 
Ailill strides swiftly to the royal presence. 

"O King and brother, I have found a bride 
Worthy the greatest monarch in this realm ; 
And I have made an end of my long quest 
For Beauty !" cries the poet; and his glance 
Kindles the sleeping spirit of the King. 

21 



The Message 

"Tell me, O brother, that at last I know 
The end of lonelines? and the bitter pain 
Which I have suffered through the winter days. 
For me at length there waits the happy end 
All men desire, — the poet, kern, and king, — 
The love that is a buckler 'gainst the world 
For two united hearts, making the home 
A sweet wall'd garden, where Eternity 
Hath conquer'd Time, and where the Soul, at 

rest, 
Knows here a portion of the joys to be. 
Hasten, O Ailill; ease my aching heart." 

Then, while the sun moves past the dark green 

hills, 
And twilight deepens, Ailill tells his tale. 

"Far have I travell'd in the Irish land, 
And seen the courts of many kings who gave 
Me royal entertainment, while I sang 
In the great hall at supper, 'mid the glare 
Of blazing torches, and beneath the gaze 
Of hardy warriors, and fair, high-born maids. 

22 



The Message 

Ever I sang of Beauty and my quest; 

But perfect Beauty was forever hid 

Fron me the seeker ; and a lovely face 

More oft than not conceal'd a canker'd heart. 

At last, dejected, I had fled the court 

Of many a king in Erin ; thence had come 

To that great wood near Inbir Cichmuine, 

Within a glade from which there well'd a spring, 

To sit beneath a yew tree's ancient shade. 

A thousand birds fill'd all the wood with song 

That reawaken'd joy in my sad heart. 

I watch'd the new green leaves blown by the 

breath 
Of the light April breeze, the sunbeams chase 
The shadow through the trees, along the grass. 
Glad was I then, while lying at full length 
Beneath the branches of the mighty tree. 

Sudden I turn'd my eyes toward the glade, 
And saw a sight I had not hoped to see 
Unless, perchance, I pass'd beyond the world 
To that far land which lies across the west, 

23 



The Message 

Where fairy men and fairy women dwell, 
And Time is nothing, Loveliness is all. 
A damsel stood beside the spring, who made 
The splendour of the sunlight seem as shadow. 
In her one person she had caught the grace 
And beauty of the land and sea, the foxglove 
Blown in early spring upon the mountain slope, 
The foam that flies from off the wintry wave 
Beating in anger on the Irish shore. 

Held by the beauty of so fair a sight, 
My senses were adream ; I could not speak 
Or move; and when the maiden sang, a numb- 
ness 
Seiz'd my spirit; I knew nor time nor place. 
Then, when I woke once more, the maid was 
gone. 

I rose, caught up my harp, and shouting ran 
Down the vast forest echoing emptiness 
Through all its dim-lit aisles, which seem'd more 

dark 
Because so much of loveliness was gone. 

24 



The Message 

To broad green fields at last, like one distraught, 
I came; there met a herdsman of the king. 

Soon was I brought before the throne of Etar, 
Ruler of green Eocraid, to whom I told 
The vision of the wood and whence I came. 

I learn'd the damsel I had seen was Etain, 
Sole daughter to the King, and dwelt alone 
Each spring in depths of woodland solitude, 
Belov'd of every forest bird and beast. 

Straightway I asked King Etar for a boon, 
The hand of Etain as thy fair royal wife. 

But Etar answer'd, "We have sworn to give 
Our daughter's life to none who shall not woo 
And win her love." 

Before that day was dead, 
The lis of Etar lay full far behind 
My eager steed which sped in haste to Tara. 

The King then, rising, speaks in joyous tones: 
"To-morrow will I ride alone with thee 

25 



The Message 

To Inbir Cichmuine to woo the maid. 
No royal state ; for Etain first must love 
The lover Eochaid ere she wed the King." 

Then turns he toward the royal couch and leaves 

His brother Ailill gazing on the hills, 

Where now the moon lights the broad, lovely 

land, 
Changing the fields to a vast lake of silver. 

The poet, musing, sounds his harp and sings : 

O Love, that fills all men with sweet desire, 
Yet burneth some with Lust's consuming fire, 
Lead me at last from conflict with the clay 
Into the stillness of Love's true highway, 

Where in the distance shines the ultimate goal, 
Love's healing hands across the troubled Soul, 
Assuaging all the sorrow, weakness, pain, 
And bringing a new innocence again, 

Ev'n as the moonlit land before me lies, 
Stretches the highway of Love's sacrifice, 

26 



The Message 

Where, one with Beauty, I at last may rest, 
Held by Love's arms, my head upon Love's 
breast. 

The song is ended, and the azure night 
Echoes an instant with the trembling sound. 
Then silence; and the royal poet goes 
With laggard steps toward the high moonlit hall. 



27 



The Wooing 

The mist still lies along the dew-drench'd grass 
When Ailill the Poet, Eochaid the King, ride 

forth 
From Tara. The Sun has not yet come in state, 
Although his harbingers, the birds, have filled 
The dawn with song. Gaily the horses leap 
With joy to feel the newly-moisten'd earth 
Beneath their feet. Blithe the spirit of the King. 
For him each bird has sung his mating-song, 
The hawthorn trees have borne their colour'd 

bloom, 
The brook is rushing to the hidden sea, 
The salmon bounding o'er the glistening rocks 
To freedom. 

Behind the happy King, Ailill, 
His bridle loosely held, his thoughts far-sped 
Toward the distant haven of his journey's end. 
The King moves in the sunlight, while the 
warmth 

28 



The Wooing 

Mellows his heart with gladness ; but the shadow 

Falls on the poet Ailill, and he rides 

In darkness down the pathways of the world. 

Thus travel King and Poet through the day; 
But, when the sun is gone behind the hills, 
Come to a little hostel to find rest. 

The evening star is risen in the height 

Of heaven ; the trees are motionless ; the breeze 

Blows with a gentle touch upon the cheek. 

Alone behind the hostel Ailill walks, 
And in the silence of the gloaming sings : 

Some in the splendour of Love's presence move, 
And some beneath the shadow of his wings; 
But ev'n the humblest followers in Love's court 
Become as kings. 

Although the shadow falls across my path, 
Yet one of Love's most glorious train am I; 
And so must shun the baser things of life, 
And seek the high. 
29 



The Wooing 

Again, before the morning sun has lit 
The earth, the twain are sped upon their jour- 
ney; 
Ere evening come to Inbir Cichmuine. 

Royal the welcome which King Etar gives 

His sovereign. Happy the slumber then of 

Eochaid, 
Who dreams of Etain and the coming morn. 

'Mid the glad melody of an Irish spring, 
Come Ailill and King Eochaid to the wood 
In which dwells Etain, to the forest glade, 
Sunlit and silent, with the fountain clear, 
Where Ailill made an ending of his quest. 

Hid by the foliage of the very tree 

Beneath which Ailill stood, the lover Eochaid; 

The poet at a distance stands alone. 

Across the flower-strewn carpet of the glade 
Comes Etain, while the all-enraptur'd sun 
Trembles in the glory of her golden hair, 

30 



The Wooing 

Plays with the golden threads which are in- 
wrought 
With her red mantle and her green silk smock. 

A silver vessel, with four birds of gold 
Athwart the rim, she holds in her white hands, 
White as the snowfall in a single night 
Upon the plains of Erin. 

The wood is hush'd 
A moment when she leaves the forest shadow, 
Bearing the basin to the fountain's marge. 
As some more favour'd mortal follows fast 
A fairy damsel into Fairyland, 
Flies the glad spirit of the eager King 
Upon the steps of Love, across a world 
Lit by the glory of a new-found light. 

Unnoticed falls the harp from Ailill's hand. 

The maiden bathes beside the bubbling spring, 
And as she combs her rippling hair she sings: 

O Sunlight, filling the whole world ivith bloom. 
And bringing all things to a wondrous birth, 

31 



The Wooing 

The purple heather and the yellow broom, 
The trees, the grass which covers the cold earth; 

O Fairies, dancing through the moonlit night, 
Yet rarely seen of any mortal eye, 
Save as a scarf of mist, a cloud of white 
Blown past the azure of the evening sky; 

O Love, that comes into a maiden s heart, 
Brighter than sunshine on the sparkling dew; 
May I in all this beauty play a part 
When thou art come to make my life anew! 

The song is ended; through the distance dies 
The maiden's voice; the birds renew their song. 
A dizzy moment motionless stands Eochaid, 
Forgetful of the steady flight of Time, 
Then bursts from out the shadow of the tree 
Athwart the sunlit stillness of the glade: 

"O fairer than all earthly loveliness, 
Whence art thou come, from what desired 
world ? 

32 



The Wooing 

Surely the daughter of a Fairy King, 

Since, like all fairies, thou art dress'd in green?" 

One who because of mortal birth forgets 
Her former life in Fairyland, she answers: 
"Daughter to Etar, King of fertile Eocraid, 
Am I. How hast thou come to find me here?" 

"Far off I dwell, above the plain of Meath, 
Leading in loneliness my length of days. 
No woman comes with kindly care to greet 
My home-returning steps from chase or war; 
No woman's lips have eas'd my troubled heart. 
From the sad splendour of a desolate hall, 
I bade my friends to feast with me, and bring 
Their wives to cheer my board ; but all refused. 
How should a woman gently born be brought 
To the rude feasting of a wifeless man? 

I sent a messenger forthwith to find 
The loveliest maid of Erin I might win 
To share with me the perfect peace which lies 
In the true union of two happy hearts. 

33 



The Wooing 

Long sought the messenger, but found at last 

The shining vision of this happy glade. 

He brought me word of thee, and straight I rode 

To know the happiness for which I longed. 

Now am I awed, as one upon whose sight 

Flashes a being of no mortal mould; 

He loves, yearning to take her in his arms." 

So speaks the King. A while the maiden stands 
With eyes downcast, then lifts them to her lord. 
In their blue depths, as in a fountain clear, 
He sees the sweet fulfillment of his dreams. 

Soon, safe and happy on his breast, the maid: 
"Thus Etain gives her love and life to thee!" 

A joyous bird sounds three clear, gladsome notes; 
And all the wood is still. The westering sun 
Is hidden now behind the sheltering trees. 

"Ailill!" at last calls loudly Eochaid. His voice 
Reechoes through the forest and is gone. 

'3* 



The Wooing 

Deep in the woodland aisles, Aflill the poet 
Wanders disconsolate, wrestles with his grief. 
For him the happy issue of his quest, 
And, at the moment when he long'd to seize 
The dear reward, the high demand of duty, 
Duty to his King, and honour, which forbids 
Utter abandonment in wild desire. 

"Love asked the harder service, and I gave 
E'en what he asked, despite the bitter pain. 
I too had hoped within these arms to hold 
A maid who brought a woman's greatest gifts, 
Her life and love." 

Ailill, musing, forgets 
The sun has turn'd upon his westward journey; 
Then, of a sudden, knows the birds have ceased 
Their song, and in the mid-day heat are silent. 

Straightway he hastens toward the glade to find 
Etain and Eochaid : 

"Brother, long since I call'd. 
No answer came, and so once more I turn'd 
To love. Go, tell King Etar that I bring 
His daughter as my bride both woo'd and won." 

35 



The Wooing 

Through the cool forest walk the happy pair, 
While round them bush and tree are burgeoning ; 
Heavy the scent of flowers in the air, 
And bright the colours in each glade and grove; 
The birds all sing in tune ; the past and future 
Are no more — naught but the everlasting now ! 

Here pause the twain. He takes her in his arms. 

"O Queen, who lov'st me for myself alone, 
Soon will I crown thee an High Queen indeed!" 

"O King, if ever I may reign the queen 
Of thy true heart, in all am I content." 

Thus w r andering in a maze of love, come they 
To Etar. 

Soon is the pomp of Tara brought, 
The chariots and the soldiers of the King, 
To Inbir Cichmuine. The marriage feast 
Makes glad the heart of every man in Erin. 
Ailill the poet sings the marriage song. 



36 



The Tryst 

Two years are past, and May is come again, 
Filling with blossom all the Irish land. 
Green are the mountains, and the roadside hedge 
Shows through its greenness a bright thread of 

gold 
Where budding gorse has broken into flower. 
The birds sing loudly in full praise of Love 
From dawn till dark ; and Night flees swift away 
Before the ardent courtship of the Sun, 
Who lends his warmth to every living thing. 
Stag fights with antlered stag; the lusty bull 
Bellows for joy at conquest of the kine. 
Love in the springtime floods the heart of man, 
Even as the river floods the teeming fields. 

Amid the mellow sunshine of the spring 
Queen Etain walks. Far off the happy day 
When first the King Eochaid by easy stages 
Brought her to Tara, and made every stage 

37 



The Tryst 

Occasion for a reverent rite of Love. 
Bright Angus Og, the god of Youth and Love, 
Came from his palace on swift-flowing Boyne, 
And hover'd over them. His brilliant birds 
Sang for their pleasure, hid in every tree. 

Long past this happy time, and now King 

Eochaid 
Is lost in statecraft, comes no more to walk 
With Etain in the sweet delight of love. 

Three kings for childish anger gone to war, 
The High King, Eochaid, then must lead his host 
To quell their brawl ; when he again return'd 
He must devote his hours to the task 
Of building round him an united state. 

Ailill in silence watch'd the lonely Queen; 
And love grew ever, hidden in his heart, 
As grows the wave which rolling to the shore 
Must break at last in joyous leaping foam. 
Such happy issue w r as not Ailill's lot; 
Upon no rocky shore his love could spend 
Itself, but must recoil on its own greatness. 

38 



The Tryst 

Into a strange sickness Ailill fell at last, 
No druid lore could cure: he lies in pain 
What time Queen Etain down her garden goes 
Amid the scented blossoms of the spring. 

Comes Eochaid there to join her. 

"Long, O wife, 
Have I been given to affairs of state, 
Putting aside the myriad joys of home. 
My lengthy labour is now well-nigh done; 
I ride in royal progress round the land, 
To see the kingdoms I have firmly join'd. 
When I return I will resign the care 
That waits upon a crown, and take the joy. 
Love shall possess the absolute sway I hold, 
While I content will reign his under-king." 

Folding her in his arms, he kisses her cheek, 
All heedless of the frighten'd look which lurks 
Deep in her eyes, as when a startled deer 
Hears the first echo of the hunting-horn. 

"Etain, I ride to-day with heavy heart, 
Because my brother Ailill has not found 

39 



The Tryst 

Relief from pain. I charge thee, therefore, 

watch 
Beside his sickbed ; seek to bring him ease 
By whatsoever means thou mayest. Farewell!" 

Slowly, to the chamber where sad Ailill lies, 

Goes Etain, troubled both in heart and mind. 

Long since the reason for the poet's pain 

She guess'd ; full often watch'd his wistful eyes 

Fixed on her face across the festal board: 

The night the royal marriage feast was spread 

Down the high hall of Tara; yet again 

Whenever in the hall the torches lit 

The splendour and the glory of a king. 

Then, too, he came to where she, lonely, walk'd 

Thro' her pied garden; sang to her; told her 

tales ; 
Did all, in sooth, to keep from her the thought 
That now her husband Eochaid came no more. 

Ailill is heedless of the springtide sun 
Aslant the bed, but, with averted face 
Hid in his hands, has turn'd him toward the wall. 

40 



The Tryst 

The room is deck'd with trophies of the chase, 
Elk horns and skins; and o'er the sick man's 

head 
The harp whose strains might set at rest the cares 
Of all the world, yet not the harper's own. 

He does not hear the step of Etain, light 
As the footfall of the wind across the leaves 
In the great wood on early autumn days; 
But when she sits upon the rough-hewn bench 
Below the couch, he turns and sees the Queen. 

Even as a river in the strength of spring 
Bursts from its banks, Ailill's pent-up passion 
Bursts from him with a sudden mighty cry: 
"Why hast thou come to look upon my pain, 
O Queen? Have I not suffer'd from desire 
Of love enough, that thou art here to add 
Fresh fuel to a flame which must consume 
My life?" 

With frighten'd gaze, she looks on 
Ailill, 
Catching her mantle up as if to flee 

4i 



The Tryst 

From where, half-risen, he stretches out his arms, 
Conquer'd by overmastering desire. 

He sees the question in her eyes ; a change 
Crosses his countenance; the storm is past, 
As when athwart the beauty of a night 
In spring, moonlit and cool, a gust of wind 
Descends with patter of thick drops of rain, 
Then passes, and the moon shines bright once 
more. 

In tones soft as the gentle breeze that follows 
The storm, he speaks again : 

"Lady and Queen — 
And more than these, my life and love, since I 
First saw the vision of the distant wood, 
And, spellbound, ran far down the leafy ways, 
Because with perfect Beauty I had found 
The death of hope, — the canker in my heart 
Gnaws ever inward; soon, perchance, I die; 
Yet I must speak and ease me of my pain. 
Long have I loved thee, known thy loneliness. 
How could my brother thus neglect the prize 

42 



The Tryst 

That I had given ? My heart as Eochaid's ached 
For love. Could I not cherish e'en as well 
A woman's life? And then no child has come 
To shield the mother's bosom from the world." 

Etain makes no answer, but quickly leans 
Along the couch to take the poet's hand. 
Her eyes are troubled, as the crystal depths 
Of a blue pool, where is a quick fish startl'd. 

Then Ailill speaks again : 

"Love is the lot 
Of every man ; it gives the strength to dare 
Conflict with men and fate ; and yet for me 
Has been a combat with a shadow, the struggle 
Of a drowning man, wherein I strove to keep 
My honour safe above the waves which close 
At last about me, and I hear no more 
The voice of Beauty ringing through the world." 

A tremour shakes him and he hides his face, 
While Etain answers in a voice which brings 
Peace to the poet's hungering heart, a voice 

43 



The Tryst 

Clear as the tinkle of a fairy bell 
Speaking of happiness beyond the world: 

"O Ailill, hither have I come to find 
A cure for thy grave sickness by command 
Of my lord Eochaid, ere he this morning rode 
In royal progress round the realm, his last 
Before he leaves the petty cares of state, 
And sovereign of united Erin reigns. 
Then will he come once more to taste the joys 
Of home, in my garden be a king indeed. 
But happy days have long been dim with dis- 
tance ; 
Long is it now since I was known of Love, 
And summon'd to his court to pay my service. ,, 

She muses ; gently dies away her voice, 
The cry of a wild bird that high in air 
Above the waters of a hill-bound lake 
Is heard, not seen. 

Leaning on elbow, Ailill 
Breaks on her musing with swift-spoken words: 
"Etain, I can no longer put away 

44 



The Tryst 

What, being Life, is strong as Life itself; 

I must complete the purpose of my days. 

Wilt thou not meet me when the cock has crow'd 

For sight of the first silver streak of dawn, 

Below the Hill of Tara, by the lodge 

Of my brother Eochaid at the woodland's edge?" 

Ere she replies, the curtain at the door 
Is thrust aside, and on the threshold stands 
A servant, bearing the leech's draught to Ailill 
From Fachtnu, physician to the High King's 

court, 
Most learned leech in a most learned land. 

She glides in silence to the door, and turns : 
"To-morrow will I come indeed, O Ailill." 

Dim are the happenings of that dreary day, 
When Ailill's ears are blurr'd by deep desire, 
And dizzy pictures dance before his eyes. 
At last, across the meadow of the world 
Night sows the seed of sleep. Ailill sleeps not, 
But tosses till he sees the risen moon 

45 



The Tryst 

Shine through the window and across the bed — 
Then drifts far off to fight with troublous 
dreams. 

The copses of the wood are cool, the dew 
Has drench'd the fern, when Etain goes to tryst 
With Ailill. The moon in the expectant sky 
Has paled, half-hidden by the Hill of Tara. 

Led by a lantern whose faint flickering beams 
Make the tall, silent trees seem pillar stones — 
A stalwart circle round a royal grave — 
Etain comes swiftly to the place of tryst. 

Far off, the distant watcher for the day 
Crows shrilly, while a sudden flush of light 
Transforms a mass of blackness into leaves. 
Day brightens ; down the broad green path which 

leads 
Out from the forest to King Eochaid's lodge, 
Etain espies a man of Ailill's mien, 
And yet not Ailill ; for how should he come 
From the dark woodland, not the royal rath? 

4 6 



The Tryst 

A moment looks she toward the Hill of Kings, 
But when she turns again the man is gone. 
The branches of the tallest trees are fleck'd 
With sunlight, while the day waxes apace, 
And still no sign of Ailill, and no sound 
Save twittering birds, the chatter of the brook. 
Then, since the day brings duties, Etain returns 
To take her place within the women's hall, 
Her absence unremark'd. Full oft her wont 
To wander in the woodland with the dawn. 

The sun is not yet risen half his height, 
Ere Etain comes where Ailill sleeping lies. 

Hearing her step, he wakes. 

"Now art thou come 
To tryst, O Etain" — sudden his voice is gone 
At sight of sunlight dancing on the floor. 

"Well hast thou mock'd me with thy tryst, O 

man, 
And paid the service due thy love and Queen !" 

47 



The Tryst 

Reading the mute amazement in his face, 
Straightway she pauses and repents her words. 

"My love and sovereign, I have sinn'd indeed. 
The moon was high in heaven when I slept, 
A prey to troubled dreams. I fought with phan- 
toms, — 
Strange men who strove to keep me from the 

bourne 
Of my desire, men clad in fairy green, 
With fairy swords ; and thou wert in their midst, 
As though their sister. One o'er all who seem'd 
Thy best protector, overcame my strength, 
Smote me to earth, and swiftly bore thee off. 
Then, in my vision, tender unseen hands 
Took me to some fair palace on a plain, 
Lit by a single precious stone. My wounds 
Were heal'd ; and there I slept a blissful sleep, 
Waking to know I had outslept the dawn. 
Such is my tale ; but, Lady, I believe 
My dream and slumber sent from Fairyland 
By those who watch the ways of mortal men." 

48 



The Tryst 

Him Etain answers not, but dreamy-ey'd 
Gazes from out the window on a world 
Green-clad and joyous in the yoke of Spring. 
Then, of a sudden waking from her dream: 
"Hidden the purposes of fairy folk 
From mortals. Hither, Ailill, have I come 
To bring thee healing, but to none avail." 

"Once more, O Etain, wilt thou test my faith, 
Meet me to-morrow at our place of tryst?" 

She stoops in answer, brushes with her lips 
His brow, as one might kiss a pouting child. 

The curtain rustles, and the Queen is gone. 

A second time the light of early day 
Finds Etain waiting by the royal lodge 
Alone, and gazing down the woodland path, 
Where once again the man of Ailill's mien 
Stands motionless. 

"Approach," she .calls, "and 
give 

49 



The Tryst 

The reason for thy tryst," her voice echoing 
Round the green vaulting of the leafy ways. 

Proudly the stranger strides to meet the Queen, 
The sunlight flashing from the bars of bronze 
Cross'd on his helmet, from the brazen shield 
Hung on his shoulder, from the sword-hilt set 
With priceless stones, from color in his kilt 
Of richest texture as befits a king. 
Blue are his eyes, like the bright billowy sea 
Beyond the western coast of lovely Erin ; 
Yellow his hair as honey in the sun. 

"Who art thou ?" murmurs Etain. 

He replies: 
"Hast thou forgotten race and heritage, 
Thy former state, so soon? My name is Midir, 
And my folk the Shee. Once wert thou wedded 

wife 
To me in Fairyland. Behold the past!" 

He waves his arm ; the forest fades away, 
And in its room there comes a mighty plain, 

50 



The Tryst 

Fill'd with spring flowers, bordering on the sea 
Which curls in wavelets round the rocky shore. 

A band of maidens, dress' d in filmy green, 
Dances in circles 'round a lofty tree 
Whose fruit hangs golden in the mellow sun; 
And, as they dance, the sound of singing, borne 
Faint, passionless, and clear to Etain's ears: 

Dance around the golden tree, 

Sisters all, 
Singing ever merrily 
In the sunshine, glad and free, 

One and all. 

Mortal millions toil in pain; 

We are blithe; 
Time the Reaper goes again 
From the flowers of our plain 

With his scythe. 

Mortals live by war and greed; 

We have peace; 
Resting on this happy mead, 
51 



The Tryst 

From the woes for which they bleed, 
Sure release. 

Dance around the golden tree, 

One and all, 
Singing ever merrily 
In the sunshine, glad and free, 

Sisters all. 

Down toward the dancers comes a merry band 
Of youths white, shining, wonderful to see: 
Nuada, Kian, Lugh, whom Etain knew 
And had forgotten with the former days. 

Sudden, the vision of the plain is gone, 
And Etain stands with Midir once again 
In the cool forest, and the sun is high. 

"From me the love which crept round Ailill's 

heart, 
A test for him who sang that love should be 
A noble passion ever, scorn'd the clay. 
Love is the pity which the gods pour out 

52 



The Tryst 

On man's desire. Much was the poet tried, 
But when I saw his fortitude had fail'd, 
I sent the sleep upon him which' could save 
His honour. 

Hasten to Tara; for the King 
Is come once more within the royal lis, 
And Ailill, free of pain, to welcome him." 

He ceases, and around him creeps a mist 
From out the forest, past the leafy trees. 
A strain of music sounds, a single chord, 
As though a thousand harps in unison. 

Numb grow the senses of the Queen. The mist 
Vanishes, — and Midir with the mist is gone. 

Slowly moves Etain toward the royal rath, 
But swift her footsteps when far off she hears 
Music and shouting and the clash of arms 
From Tara. 

Soon she beholds the royal hill, 
With warriors pressing round the haughty King, 
Drawn in his chariot by tw r o milk-white steeds. 

53 



The Tryst 

Now is she first among the clamourous crowd 
Standing aside that she may greet her lord. 

Behind him Ailill, with proud, buoyant mien, 
His sickness vanish'd, as an ugly dream 
Forgotten in the golden morning sun. 



54 



The Monk Pauses in His Labour 

Follow, follow, 

O swift-wing'd swallow, 

The springtide call to a new delight. 

River-rover, 

Leap up and over 

The rocks, O salmon silver-bright! 

In the garden close 

Is the new-blown rose, 

And the blossom white on the hawthorn tree ; 

Wild birds are singing; 

The breeze is bringing 

The keen, clean smell of the wind-swept sea, 

Where the roving Dane 
Will launch again 

His well-mann'd ships for the Irish shore. 

55 



The Monk Pauses in His Labour 

Yet a Danish sail 

Is of no avail 

'Gainst the kilted kerns in the battle roar, 

When a host of men, 
From hill and glen 

Sweeps down with the strength of a curling 
wave ; 

A flash of spears, 

And women's tears 

Are all that's left for the fallen brave. 

But the din of war, 

Though loud, is far 

From the peaceful toil of a monkish cell, 

The open book 

In the garden nook 

By the great grey house where the brothers dwell. 

Swallow, swallow, 

Could I but follow 

The springtide call to a new delight, 

56 



The Monk Pauses in His Labour 

Like the river-rover, 

Td up and over, 

Across the wall, where the land is bright! 



57 



In the Monastery 

Is acher in gaith in-nocht 
(Cold is the wind to-night) 

Old Irish Poem 

Cold is the wind to-night, and rough the sea, 
Too rough for ev'n the daring Dane to find 
A landing-place upon the frozen lea. 

Cold is the wind. 

The blast sweeps round the chapel from behind, 
Making the altar-light flare fitfully, 
While I must kneel and pray with troubled 
mind. 

Patrick and Bridget, I have pray'd to thee! 
The night is over, and my task resign'd 
To Colum. Though God's own dwelling shel- 
ter me, 

Cold is the wind. 

58 



The Song of Angus and Caer 

(In their flight as swans from Loch Bel Draccon) 

ANGUS 

White as the snow of one night, my love, 

Who flies in the form of a swan 
Over the green-sided valleys and hills, 
Lakes unruffled and leaping rills, 
Forever on and on. 

CAER 

Fairest art thou among swans of the earth, 

King of the hidden gods ! 
As the world in spring, I am born again, 
I am born to Love, forgetting Pain, 

The stroke of Life's chast'ning rods. 

ANGUS 

Fly with me to the Brugh of the Boyne, 
Hid in the heart of a hill, 
59 



The Song of Angus and Caer 

Where the hours fade, and the days flow 

on, 
The sands run ever, and never gone, 
As tide to the ocean's will. 

CAER 

Love is a star in the winter sky, 
Caress of the morning dew; 
Love is Time, and Time is Love, 
Flight of an eagle, wings of a dove, 
Light of the lamp of the True. 



60 



In May 

In May the Irish air is sweet 
With odor from the hawthorn spray, 
And birds each other blithely greet, 

In May. 

Night holds but momentary sway, 
Then vanishes with flying feet 
Before the swift approach of Day, 

Stags bellow and the proud ram bleat, 
The shining salmon leaps in play, 
While happy lovers often meet, 

In May. 



61 



Blackfoot the Stag 

O Stag of Erin, hast thou heard the horn 
Of mighty hunters of the Fenian days, 
When by the forest pool thou stoodst at gaze 
In the crisp stillness of an autumn morn? 
Then, swiftly hurrying with feet forlorn 
Along Ben Gulban's rough and rocky ways, 
Thou earnest to behold broad Connaught's bays 
Outspread beneath the height where thou wast 
born. 

How rapid is the passing of the years! 
Five hundred summers now have followed spring ; 
No longer is the flashing of the spears 
Bright on the mountain; the bugles' carolling 
Borne clearly to thy keen affrighted ears: 
Art thou too, Stag, gone with my wondering? 



62 



CORMAC'S CHRISTMAS 

A Mystery 



Copyright, ig 16, By Norreys Jephson O' Conor 

All rights reserved, including rights of production 

and adaptation 



TO 

F. N. ROBINSON 

Professor of English in Harvard University 

Friend and Fosterer of Celtic Letters in the 

United States 



CORMAC'S CHRISTMAS 
A Mystery 

PERSONS OF THE PLAY 

cormac, a noble of the first rank 
sachallus (formerly Feradach), 
a follower of Saint Patrick 
conn, son to Cormac 
debrann, a Druid 

THREE STRANGERS 

bri, niece to Sachallus 

place: Ireland. 

time: A Christmas Eve during Saint 
Patrick's mission, after 429. 

Scene: The living room of the house of Cormac. 
There are benches and chairs about the floor; 
a table left center; shields and trophies of 

65 



Cormac's Christmas: a Mystery 

the chase on the walls. There is a fire on 
the hearth right. Entrances are at right, 
left , and a door back leading into the open 
air. Since the hour is late afternoon, can- 
dles burn on the table. When the curtain 
rises Cormac is seated in a large chair left, 
facing the fire. Sachallus appears at the 
door back. He raises his hand in bene- 
diction. 

SACHALLUS 

Peace to this house — and to thee, O Cormac! 

CORMAC 

Victory and blessing of the gods upon thee, O 
Feradach ! 

SACHALLUS 

Wilt call me by the name I have forgotten long 
ago? 

CORMAC 

More shame to thee. Art thou no more Fera- 

66 



Cormac's Christmas: a Mystery 

dach mac Lomna, son of the warrior whose name 
was known throughout Erin, dreaded even in 
distant Lochlann ? 

SACHALLUS 

In truth I am. Yet have I gained a greater Fa- 
ther, for I am son to the true God. 

CORMAC 

But I do know thee still as son to Lomna. Hast 
put aside all pride with thy new God? Dost 
rejoice no longer in deeds of war, the clash of 
swords, the red light of the flames of battle? 

SACHALLUS 

My God can use the sword upon occasion. Yet 
Him I serve is called the Prince of Peace. I am 
of the host of His warriors, Sachallus, servant 
to Christ and follower of holy Patrick. 

CORMAC 

Dost seek again to turn me from the ancient 
faith? Thou art more servant than warrior. 
Should I forego the conflict, the cry of the Mor- 

6 7 



Cormac's Christmas: a Mystery 

rigu, the Battle Crow, above the slaughter, and 
become as thou? The blood within my veins 
would turn to fire, and burn the palaces of Erin 
where men still live. 

SACHALLUS 

My purpose is to preach the Christ, to show thee 
a greater vision than the other-world, where 
dwell the Tuatha De Danaan. 

CORMAC 

Profane not the Fairy folk. Their green cloaks 
have often been seen flashing beside me in the 
fight. 

SACHALLUS 

I would not speak ill of the Shee; but I would 
win thee to a land more glorious than the Land 
of Youth, a land which waits for every Chris- 
tian — the Paradise of God. 

CORMAC 

Will there be warlike sport and bowls of mead 
when I am weary? 

68 



Cormac's Christmas: a Mystery 

SACHALLUS 

The saints of God singing to the sound of golden 
harps. 

CORMAC 

Womanish thou hast become. Thou wert ever 
a lover of the harp and songs of the far-off world, 
dreams of the land that lies beyond the west. 
With thy new faith thou hast forgot men's deeds 
and dwellest in a world of minstrels' melodies. 
Well is it Lomna has died and waits with sword 
in hand the summoning of heroes, upright in his 
burial mound. He it is slew Tocha of Loch- 
lann and led thee to thy first battle. 

SACHALLUS 

All this is far away, and I have gained a keener 
sight. War is but half of life, and, as I deem, 
the poorer half. The Prince of Peace has shown 
a newer and a greater beauty. Canst thou not 
see? Is there no voice that murmurs in thine 
heart? 

CORMAC 

Still art thou lost in dreams. For me the sword 

69 



Cormac's Christmas: a Mystery 

will sing the sweetest song; and in the end I 
would pass to Tir-n-an-Og, live forever in the 
Fairy kingdom with my peers, the Fairy men who 
oft have helped me in the wars. 

SACHALLUS 

Cormac, I will bring thee to a fairer world, 
where thou shalt have a truer life eternal. 

CORMAC 

No more thy tales. Feradach, friend to my 
youth, thou art welcome at my board. I have 
won the name "Hospitable," and I turn thee not 
away because thou seekest a new God. Thou 
mayst persuade me not. Dream as thou wilt; 
but as for me, I keep the faith of men, and I will 
pray to gods to whom my father prayed, swear 
by the gods by whom my people swore. 

SACHALLUS 

1 cannot make thee understand ; my visits are in 
vain! 

CORMAC 

Put away thy folly. Be once more Feradach the 

70 



Cormac's Christmas: a Mystery 

warrior, not Sachallus, follower of a Briton from 
over sea. 

SACHALLUS 

More warrior am I than e'er before, but soldier 
in Christ's army. 

CORMAC 

Truce to thy preaching. I would ask why thou 
didst come this day, when, speaking both for 
myself and for the nobles under me, I have 
sent word to Patrick I would die believing in 
the ancient faith? 

SACHALLUS 

Thy resolution for thyself would Patrick suffer, 
and have trust in prayer; but, since thou leadest 
others, great is his wrath. He has called to God 
for punishment on thee, and has been granted it. 
Victor, God's angel, came in a vision and said, 
"Thy prayer is heard, O Patrick, and punish- 
ment shall be given Cormac soon." In haste I 
sought thee — for I have loved thee ever — with 
warning that the wrath of the true God is 

71 



Cormac's Christmas: a Mystery 

mighty. Take the faith, O Cormac, and turn 
aside thy doom. 

CORMAC 
Thou art in truth a woman. I fear not thy 
God ; I have my sword and strength to wield it. 
The Dagda and the gods protect me. Come no 
more with thine eastern tales; Sachallus is no 
longer welcome, but only Feradach. To Sachal- 
lus I bid farewell. 

SACHALLUS 

Farewell ! And may my God have mercy though 
He punish thee ! 

{Sachallus goes out at back. Cormac 
sinks moodily into his chair as Debrann 
enters right.) 

DEBRANN 

Once more he sought to wean thee from the 
gods? 

CORMAC 

But I'was firm. They have ceased their prayers 
and turned to threats; Sachallus brought word 

72 



Cormac's Christmas: a Mystery 

a spirit came to Patrick and promised vengeance 
of the Christian God upon me. 

DEBRANN 

Some demon sent from Balor. May the gods 
protect us! 

{He draws a circle with his yew wand, 
stands within it, and mutters , "In dia mo 
tuatha don ditin") 

Long shall thy name be known in Erin, defender 
of the faith ! 

CORMAC 

The ancient ways are passing — many seek Christ. 
I must teach my son to stand firm as his fathers, 
be a warrior ever. 

DEBRANN 

These womanish clerics have forgotten how to 
use the sword, and are grown weak from fast- 
ing. Naught is there to fear. 

CORMAC 

The ancient prohibition put upon me ? 

73 



Cormac's Christmas: a Mystery 

DEBRANN 

That Cormac should not receive three strangers 
in his house upon a night when it both rains and 
snows? 

CORMAC 

Now there is rain. 

DEBRANN 

But there is sign of clearing. Twice in ten 
years past do I remember snow ; snow and rain in 
one night once in thirty years. Thy life is safe 
as yet. But I forgot — one waits without to 
speak with thee, — Ilbrec, thy tenant. 

CORMAC 

Bid him enter. 

(Debrann goes to door right and beckons. 
Ilbrec enters and kneels to Cormac.) 

ILBREC 

I ask mercy, O Cormac ! 

74 



Cormac's Christmas: a Mystery 

CORMAC 

(To Debrann) Leave us. 

(Debrann goes out at right*) 
What means thy trouble, Ilbrec? 

ILBREC 

Thou knowest I have held thy farm these three 
years, and paid thee rent — one cow. Thou de- 
mandest this year I give thee three. 

CORMAC 

I thought thou wert well able. My rents grow 
slack, and there is unrest in Erin; the state tot- 
ters with those who seek a strange God. Many 
give their goods to clerics, but I must still pay 
my tribute to the King. 

ILBREC 

I have but six cows in all. 

CORMAC 

Three are mine, due rental for thy farm. 

ILBREC 

Thou knowest in the past summer a plague rav- 

75 



Cormac's Christmas: a Mystery 

aged my kine ; these six alone are left. My wife 
and children — I cannot pay. 

CORMAC 

Thy farm, then, is forfeit, and I must seek an- 
other tenant. 

ILBREC 

Mercy, O Cormac! The visitations of the 
gods — 

CORMAC 

Thy kine. 

ILBREC 

Take thou my farm, and I will seek another lord. 
Thou hast been "Hospitable," but I will call thee 
"Merciless." May all the curses of the gods be 
poured upon thee, and through hospitality disaster 
come! 

{He rushes out right, as Conn enters left.) 
CONN 

O Father, what mean these angry words ? 

76 



Cormacfs Christmas: a Mystery 

CORMAC 

Ilbrec's farm is mine again. He seeks another 
lord, another land, perchance. I care not, save 
the rent is lost. 

CONN 

One cow? 

CORMAC 

Three — thou knowest the times are hard. 

CONN 

The plague upon his kine: thou shouldst have 
granted respite. 

CORMAC 

Thou knowest naught of these things. Ere long 
will I teach thee, that thou mayest take my place. 
I am old, and Christians threaten me. 

CONN 

This may not be, for their gospel is one of peace. 

CORMAC 

How knowest thou this? 

77 



Cormac's Christmas: a Mystery 

CONN 

Common rumour it is. Their faith is spreading 
in the land. 

CORMAC 

But not within my boundaries. Here are still 
altars of the gods and Druids to serve them. 
Thou shalt be guardian of the ancient learning. 

CONN 

Thou speakest of Christian threats. Tell me 
clearly. 

CORMAC 

Feradach, my friend, called by Christians Sachal- 
lus, came again to win me to his faith. Long is 
it ere Feradach drew the sword. Such is the 
end of all who follow too keenly tales and melo- 
dies. Thou seekest too often the harp, my son. 
I were fain didst thou throw the javelin and ply 
the sling with greater eagerness. 

CONN 

Yet knowledge of the ancient songs is of a no- 
ble's duty. All are not given skill in deeds of 

78 



Cormac's Christmas: a Mystery 

war; to some are granted secrets of the harp, as 
unto others knowledge of the law and judgment. 

CORMAC 

Harpers' songs will never make thee great 
among the men of Erin, kings and warriors of 
Conor's mighty race. I knew the songs once, but 
have forgotten them. Look upon my lands — are 
they not wide, and is my sway not reverenced in 
Erin? 

CONN 

Famous bards and learned men will know my 
name ; and mayhap in the years to come my songs 
will sound through many an hall. 

CORMAC 

Is that the fame thou seekest — to please the ears 
of weaklings and of women? For that do I 
leave thee my well-ordered lands, the power of 
my name, Conn, son to Cormac? 

CONN 

Father, all are not as thou. The times change; 
there is no longer thought alone of war and 

79 



Cormac's Christmas: a Mystery 

chase, but many men have other purposes. Thou 
spakest of Sachallus — to him has come the wide 
vision of the destiny of man. Not only burning 
houses and white bodies of fair women doth he 
see. His vision is of golden sunlight on fertile 
fields, children playing about their mother, ships 
laden with rich goods sweeping toward distant 
lands — such is the army of the Prince of Peace. 

CORMAC 

Thou hast spoken with Sachallus and art poisoned 
with his tales and madness. I had hoped thou 
wouldst serve the altars of the gods, keep the 
customs of our race. Then were I glad to go 
within my burial mound knowing one man of 
strength in Erin. I find thee lured by pretty vi- 
sions ; Fairy folk have piped their magic music in 
thine ears, and thou art mad. Thou art wander- 
ing in another world. Debrann, Debrann, — 
my son faileth me! 

(He goes out right in wild despair.) 
80 



Cormac's Christmas: a Mystery 

CONN 

{Starting after his father,) Thou knowest not, 
my Father — 

{At this moment a step behind him at- 
tracts his attention^ and he turns to see 
Bri on the threshold of the door back.) 

BRI 

Conn, I find thee safe? 

CONN 

What means thy coming? 

BRI 

Hast thou not heard as yet? Sachallus came — 

CONN 

1 saw him not. 

BRI 

With message to thy father 
From holy Patrick, who has prayed to God 
For punishment on Cormac. God has heard. 

CONN 

Thou art trembling as a leaf upon a bough 
In early spring, when winds are still too keen. 

81 



Cormac's Christmas: a Mystery 

BRI 

I thought that I might find thee gone — this house, 
Vanished, perchance. My fears are woman's 
weakness. 

CONN 

Beloved, in my arms thou needst not fear; 
I'll keep thee 'gainst the world. Say on at 
length. 

BRI 
God's punishment is mighty; and his angel, 
The shining Victor, promised it to Patrick. 
I told thee that Sachallus spoke in vain. 
Straightway on his return, I threw this cloak 
About me, hastened hither, a thousand visions 
Flashing before mine eyes: I saw thy dwelling 
Struck by a thunderbolt; thee and thy father 
White, silent, stark, amid avenging flames; 
Or grinning demons bearing him away. 

CONN 

These are childish fears. 

BRI 

Born of a too great love. 
82 



Cormac's Christmas: a Mystery 

CONN 

Say not too great. How can that be too great 
Which, being all we have, is less than God 
Who lends His own divinity to Love? 

BRI 

Thou art a better Christian, Conn, than I. 

CONN 

Although a later. But a month agone 
Sachallus put the Cross upon my brow. 

BRI 

Hast told thy father? 

CONN 

I thought this day to speak, 
Yet would not; for I found my father troubled. 
Ilbrec, his tenant, gave him back his farm ; 
And thou dost tell me of Sachallus now. 
Cormac has longed for me to hold his place, 
Wielding a pagan sway, going with fire 
And spear and sword to ravage lovely Erin, 

83 



Cormac's Christmas: a Mystery 

Crossing with terror to the British land, 
Serving the altars of the pagan gods, 
Hearkening the Druid tales and prophecies. 
He spoke to me of his high hopes, and I 
Forbore to bring more woe to-day upon him. 

BRI 

Love granted thee the gift of gentleness. 

Now is my heart at ease, and all the fancies 

Of imagination gone, like little clouds 

Blown past the glory of a summer moon. 

I see the house now as it ever was : 

The shields, the table, and the lighted fire, 

And thee, O Conn, beside them in the firelight. 

CONN 

Though I am gentle, I am firm of faith. 
I'll keep thee by me, take my father's place, 
And lead my people from shadow to the light — 
New faith, new life, new hope, for them and me. 
Though God's wrath shall be mighty, yet will I 
Still be His servant; and I will not fear 
The punishment of Cormac. 

84 



Cormac's Christmas: a Mystery 

BRI 

Thou givest me 
Courage, for, seeing dimly, thou dost believe. 

CONN 

Such is the confidence of men who lead. 
All others are but petty plodders, ploughmen 
Of the world, who lack the skill to sow the seed, 
Nor know the wheat from tares. But come, the 

rain 
Will now have stopped, and there may be the 

stars, 
As on this night four hundred years ago, 
When Christ our Lord in Bethlehem was born. 

{He leads Bri to the door back, and they 
stand looking out.) 

BRI 

The air is cold, and clouds blow past the heavens. 
There are no stars, but presage of more storm. 
I must be gone; for now I know thee safe, 
And Patrick says a mass for Christmas morn. 

85 



Cormac's Christmas: a Mystery 

CONN 

Farewell, and may the angels bring thee joy! 

{He kisses her and she goes off, wrapping 
her mantle about her. He is looking 
after her when Cormac enters right and 
comes up behind him. He closes the 
door.) 

CORMAC 

I was too hasty in my words. I forgot a father's 
office. Troublous has been this day. As there 
are many men, there must be many missions. I 
think for my place, not for myself. My 
strength is not what once it was, and I would 
know thee able to uphold that for which I 
strove. 

{Cormac has now taken his seat in the 
large chair left, Conn on a bench beside 
him.) 

CONN 

O Father, I would not bring thee woe, but 
thou wert unjust to Ilbrec. 

86 



Cormac's Christmas: a Mystery 

CORMAC 

I could not otherwise; I must support the hon- 
our of my house. Men such as he cannot know 
the need that doth oppress me. I should be a 
light in battle and in holy duties, else would the 
country fall to an invader. 

CONN 

Ilbrec is a man as thou — the same ties, a wife 
and children. 

CORMAC 

My sternness was thought for thee; I would 
deliver thee a sway firmly knit as that my 
father left me. I would have thee looked to by 
all Erin as guardian of what comes from days 
long gone, but by the land's true sons never for- 
got. 

CONN 

Thou lookest for the glory and good of thy peo- 
ple? Thou wouldst have Erin keep her place 
among the nations? 

CORMAC 

Thou namest the purpose of my life. 

87 



Cormac's Christmas: a Mystery 

CONN 

Mayst thou not turn too eagerly toward the past? 
Wouldst go to battle with a sword of stone, 
when men wield weapons now of metal ? I would 
seek courage from ancient days, but change with 
changing customs; bow as the sapling to the 
wind, which swings back to straightness. Thus 
would I win my people greater good and glory. 
Hast not looked upon the fields when the sun was 
hidden, saying, "How fair! I would not alter 
this!" But when the sun has shone again, didst 
thou not see a thousand things but lately hid? 
In too zealous following of the past there can be 
lack of wisdom. Erin may not live alone, but 
for the world; and every lord in Erin must la- 
bour for his fellows. 

CORMAC 

Thou speakest strangely, and I understand thee 
not. 

CONN 

A new spirit stirs abroad. Men seek to keep 
their homes, to till their land, to trade — 

88 



Cormac's Christmas: a Mystery 

CORMAC 
{Breaking in upon him.) I like not what thou 
sayest. For me, my weapons shall be buried 
with me, and I will bequeath thee a warrior's 
name. I am weary, and vague uneasiness tor- 
ments me. Mayhap I have listened too oft to 
Christian tales, and the gods seek vengeance on 
me. There is a prophecy — 

{He looks up and sees Debrann standing 
in the door right.) 

Debrann, thou knowest the ancient words! 

DEBRANN 

That thou shouldst dread the visit of three stran- 
gers on a night it both rains and snows. Art 
still fearful of the Christian threat? 

CONN 

1 looked upon the night not long since. The 
rain had ceased. 

DEBRANN 

Thy brain is filled with fancies. Thou hast 
served the gods well and upheld their cause. 

89 



Cormac's Christmas: a Mystery 

CORMAC 

(Rising) 'Tis age, perchance, which creeps upon 
me. I would speak to thee of Ilbrec. Come. 

(Cormac and Debrann go out right.) 

CONN 

God's ways are strange ; my words may not have 
been in vain. 

(He starts to go out right, when there is a 
knock on the door back. He pauses. The 
knock is repeated, and he opens the door. 
Outside are three men richly dressed in 
foreign-looking garments, and muffled 
against the cold. One of the men is of 
dark skin. Behind them it is snowing 
softly.) 

FIRST STRANGER 

We ask the hospitality of this house. Far have 
we travelled, and our journey yet is long. 

CONN 

In my father's name I bid ye welcome. Enter, 
and I will bring ye food. 

90 



Cormac's Christmas: a Mystery 

{The Strangers come into the room*) 

FIRST STRANGER 

There is no need; our sporans were well filled. 
We seek only a place to sleep. In whose house 
are we? 

CONN 

In that of Cormac, son to Aed, first noble of this 
kingdom. 

{Cormac and Debrann have appeared at 
the door right; they look with astonish- 
ment upon the Strangers. The First 
Stranger sees Cormac and salutes him.) 

FIRST STRANGER 

Hail to thee, O Cormac! In thy name thy son 
bade us welcome. 

CORMAC 

{Still astonished) Ever — was my title — Hospi- 
table. — {Muttering) — The curse — of Ilbrec. 

FIRST STRANGER 

Once more hail, O Cormac! Denyest thou the 
greeting of thy son? 

91 



Cormac's Christmas: a Mystery 

CORMAC 

(With effort) All things within this house are 
yours. Safe are ye to-night, if Cormac's name 
and arm can make ye so. 

DEBRANN 

May the almighty gods protect ye — and us ! 

CORMAC 

Amazed was I by your coming. The hour is 
late ; the weather ill. I see snow upon your gar- 
ments. 

FIRST STRANGER 

We journey fast and far; nor weather nor hour 
stays us. 

CORMAC 

Food 

FIRST STRANGER 

Our wants are simple. We ate upon the way. 
Lodging this night is what we ask. 

CORMAC 

'Tis yours. Conn, bring mead for the strangers ; 
drink they will not deny. 

92 



Cormac's Christmas: a Mystery 

(Conn goes out left.) 
Lay aside your cloaks. 

THE THREE STRANGERS 

Thanks, O Cormac ! Victory and blessing upon 

thee! 

(The Strangers remove their outer cloaks 
and stretch them on the floor in front of 
the fire. Cormac and Debrann exchange 
understanding looks. Conn reappears 
from door left, bearing a mead horn which 
he hands to the First Stranger.) 

FIRST STRANGER 

(Raising the horn) Health — and strength to thy 
spirit, O Cormac! And to ye all! 

(He drinks, passing the horn to his com- 
panions. Cormac, Conn, and Debrann re- 
turn the Strangers' salute. Conn, after 
the horn is returned to him, places it upon 
the table.) 

93 



Cormac's Christmas: a Mystery 

DEBRANN 

I go to serve the altars of the gods; for there is 
need. 

{He salutes.) 

CORMAC 
{Returning salute) Farewell! 

{Debrann goes out right, and Cormac 
turns to the Strangers.) 

Sit ye by the fire and tell of your coming to Erin. 
By your dress I know ye strangers in the land. 
Conn, take thy seat beside me. 

{Cormac sits in the large chair left. Conn 
immediately on his right. The Strangers 
sit to the right of Conn, in the centre of 
the stage.) 

CONN 

Methinks ye have journeyed over many seas from 

vast stretches of eastern plains. 

FIRST STRANGER 

Thou sayest sooth. 

94 



Cormac's Christmas: a Mystery 

CORMAC 

I like not these eastern lands; strange faiths and 
customs come thence, which have corrupted our 
old Irish ways. The Christian's God, the 
Christ 

CONN 

I ask pardon for my father's words. 

CORMAC 

I did forget. I have had cause to hate the 

Christ. . 

FIRST STRANGER 

From farther east we come; yet have we been 
to Bethlehem. 

CONN 

To Bethlehem! 

CORMAC 

No more these places of the Christians. I am a 
follower of my father's gods. What brought ye 
to Erin? 

FIRST STRANGER 

We carried gifts to Leary, High King — and 
others in the land. We are kings in our own 

95 



Cormac's Christmas: a Mystery 

right. Much have we studied the ways of Erin, 
and now we travel home. 

CORMAC 

Bring ye no gifts for me? 

FIRST STRANGER 

Our gifts may not be seen, they are too precious 
— yet many have them. 

CORMAC 

Ye speak in riddles such as Christians call para- 
bles. 

FIRST STRANGER 

Now will I speak what thou canst understand. 
There is a prohibition on us which declares that 
on this night of all the year we may not rest 
where we have been, but must set out toward 
Bethlehem. 

CORMAC 

A prohibition upon thee? 

FIRST STRANGER 

{With a gesture) On all. 

96 



Cormac's Christmas: a Mystery 

CORMAC 

The customs of these foreign lands are not so 
strange. I too' have prohibition upon me; but I 
have broken it. 

FIRST STRANGER 

What meanest thou ? 

CONN 

My father 

CORMAC 

Seek not to dissuade me. There is a prophecy 
spoken before my birth by Crimthann, High 
Druid, that I must dread the night three stran- 
gers seek my house when it both rains and snows. 
Ye know what I have done. The laws of hos- 
pitality — I could not turn ye from my house. My 
title is "Hospitable." 

FIRST STRANGER 

We bring thee no ill ; for we are peaceful kings. 
Oft what seemeth ill is presage of a greater good. 
Yet, since thou fearest us, we will journey on. 

{He rises, and the other Strangers follow suit.) 

97 



Cormac's Christmas: a Mystery 

CORMAC 
(Rising and standing between them and the 
door) Shame were it on my house should ye 
leave it thus. Cormac has strength to meet and 
bear his fate. 

FIRST STRANGER 

Thou hast spoken as fits the ancient fame of Erin. 

CONN 

(Rising) I would show ye where ye may sleep. 

CORMAC 

O Conn, I stay the* night through in this seat; 
then am I ready for disaster with my sword be- 
side me. 

FIRST STRANGER 

In proof of faith we will remain to guard thee. 
No evil spirit here, but one of us shall conquer 
him. Go thou to rest, O Conn! 

CORMAC 

My thanks, O Kings! 

(To Conn) Come thou at dawn to see that all 

98 



Cormac's Christmas: a Mystery 

is well. Goodnight, and blessing of the gods 
upon thee! 

CONN 

Blessing and protection be on thee! I'll sleep 
within the outer chamber, where thou mayst call 
me. 

{Cormac and Conn emorace. Conn goes 
out left. The Three Strangers draw 
their swords and sit on the floor in a semi- 
circle facing Cormac. They have blown 
out the candles on the table, so that the 
room is now illumined only by firelight. 
Cormac leans moodily back in his chair* 
gazing into the fire. Gradually his head 
droops, and he falls asleep. The Three 
Strangers sink to the floor in slumber one 
by one. There is complete silence. Sud- 
denly a knocking is heard on the outer 
door. None of the sleepers heeds it, and 
the knocking is repeated. Cormac stirs 
uneasily. A voice outside calls, "I am 
the Good Shepherd, and I seek my sheep." 
99 



Cormac's Christmas: a Mystery 

A moment after, the door at the back 
opens, as if pushed by an unseen hand. 
Outside, the night is clear, and a bright 
star shines in the heavens opposite the 
door. A choir of angels is singing the 
"Gloria in excelsis" 

The Three Strangers rise as though 
still in a dream. They are now revealed as 
the Three Wise Men of Bethlehem. They 
go out in procession by the door back, each 
bearing before him his appropriate gift — 
gold, frankincense, myrrh. Behind them 
walks Cormac, who has risen, also as if in 
a dream, and goes with his hands out- 
stretched, murmuring, "O Lord, I come! 
for now I know Thy faith wins everlast- 
ing life." All disappear, and the angelic 
music dies away. 

Dawn comes. Conn enters left, and is 
astonished to find the room empty and the 
door at the back open. He runs to the 
door and meets Bri.) 
IOO 



Cormac's Christmas: a Mystery 

BRI 

A miracle, O Conn ! Patrick has seen a miracle !, 
(Conn does not answer, but looks under- 
standingly at Bri. He puts his arm 
about her and she clings to him. Voices 
ere heard in the distance singing a Christ- 
mas hymn, which grows louder and 
louder. Conn and Bri fall on their knees 
as Sachallus, apparently first of a pro- 
cession, appears at the back bearing the 
Cross.) 

[curtain] 



IOI 



MORE MODERN MELODIES 



In Memoriam: Francis Ledwidgc 

(Killed in action, July 31st, 1917) 

Soldier and singer of Erin, 
What may I fashion for thee? 
What garland of words or of flowers? 
Singer of sunlight and showers, 
The wind on the lea; 

Of clouds, and the houses of Erin, 
Wee cabins, white on the plain, 
And bright with the colours of even, 
Beauty of earth and of heaven 
Outspread beyond Slane! 

Slane, where the Easter of Patrick 
Flamed on the night of the Gael, 
Guard both the honour and story 
Of him who has died for the glory 
That crowns Inisfail. 
105 



In Memoriam: Francis Ledwidge 

Soldier of right and of freedom, 
I offer thee song and not tears. 
With Brian, and Red Hugh O'Donnell, 
The chiefs of Tyrone and Tyrconnell, 
Live on through the years! 



1 06 



The Response of the Shee 

In a vision, the night before the outbreak of war, 
the Poet walked by a fairy rath, and found there 
the King of the Fairies, or Tuatha De Danaan, as 
they are called in Irish story, with a number of 
followers. What he saw he has written; but the 
vision was fleeting. 



THE KING 

Assemble the host of mighty men, 

Gather the strength of the Shee again, 

From the Reeks of the south to the hills of the 

north, 
From Cleena's Wave to the Firth of Forth, 
Wherever the mighty heart of the Gael N 
Has leapt for joy, or at sorrow's wail 
Has sadden'd, and patiently borne the years 
Of martyr'd men and mothers' tears. 
Let the blue-eyed race with wondrous hair, 
The godlike race, than men more fair, 

107 



The Response of the Shec 

Hearken the cry of the Gaelic world, 
Lest Freedom die, and Beauty, hurl'd 
Beneath a madden'd leader's heel, 
Be prey to men of lust and steel. 

II 

THE RESPONSE 

Lo! from the hollows of the changeless hills 

Far off, they come. 
A wild, sweet strain of Fairy music sounds, 

Then all is dumb. 
As a grey mist before the sunrise floats 

Down a deep glen, 
There passes now the wondrous hidden host 

Of Fairy men. 

Then they are gone, and through the trees the 

wind 
Sweeps for a moment with a sudden sigh. 
Silence comes straightway. Slowly, from behind 
The mountain, comes the moon, half veil'd and 

shy. 

108 



The Response of the Shee 

For the scatter'd Gael the host has pass'd : 
There's a strength new-found in hearts forlorn, 
As across the waste of the world at last, 
The first faint call of a fairy horn. 

Ill 

A VOICE FROM AFAR, BORNE ON THE WIND 

Over the mountain the morning slips. 

Away, away! 
Hasten and mount, and gallop afar; 
The dawn has come and the morning star. 



109 



On a Windy Morning 

August 16, 1914 

The east wind blows and summer's fled away ; 
Across the sky the cloud-drift goes, 
White clouds and gray. 

Afar, upon the plain of northern France, 
Men meet in mortal enmity 
With gun and lance. 

O w T ild east wind, what do ye blow away? 
The souls of men are hid within 
The clouds to-day. 



no 



In Madison Square 

Christmas, 191 6 

I heard a sound of music in the square 

Above the bumping of a heavy truck 

And hoot of motor-horns, — solemn harmony 

Which soon became the carol "Silent Night." 

The hubbub of the streets at twilight broke 

The music; only now and then I caught 

The blare of trumpets. Round a platform stood 

A crowd of listeners; high above them gleamed 

The nrystic Star of Bethlehem. Here and there 

Some passerby, to muse the Christmas message, 

Paused underneath the gaily lighted tower. 

I thought then of the angels' honoured song 
Of "Peace on earth, good will to every man," 
Which many in my country fashion thus : 
"We have not caught the madness of the nations 
Who fight for envy of they know not what. 

in 



In Madison Square 

We are at peace; come, let us now persuade 

them!" 
Such men hear not the voices of the soul, 
But merely money dropping in the till, 
Scent only odours of a well-spread board. 

Before my eyes the square was blotted out; 
Flash'd in its place the trench-lined fields of 

France ; 
And next, December sunlight on the faces 
Of soldiers who had seen a vision glorious, 
Who had heard the unheard harmonies, the cry 
Of tortured Belgium, and the call to save 
All that men cannot touch yet hold most dear. 
Then, as I looked, a cloud of smoke broke out 
Along the Allied trenches, and I heard 
The holier Christmas carol of the guns. 



112 



Summer's End 

What can I give as the guerdon of friendship? 

The words of a song, 
That fly like a bird to the nest, where my friend is 

When evenings are long, 
And the wind which is crying the keen of the 
winter 

Blows boist'rous and strong. 

Winter is dead ; but the seed sown in summer 

Must blossom in spring, 
When the gorse in the land where I left her 
grows yellow, 
The bird's on the wing; 
And the thought that the day w T hen I see her 
draws nearer, 
New pleasure will bring. 

Far away, I will turn where the ocean is breaking 
In peace on the shore, 
113 



Summer's End 

And find me a ship for the land where I linger 

In thought evermore: 
The County of Cork, the town, and the Castle 

I lived in before. 

One morning I'll ride from the gate, and will 
travel 
The road by the hill, 
Past a village that lies in the heart of a hollow, 

A half-hidden rill — 
Till I come to a cottage scarce seen from the 
roadside, 
White, ancient, and still. 

Here at last is an end to my journey, and where 

I was longing to be, 
While I dwelt in the toil and the noise of a city 

Far over the sea. 
This song, then, my gift, and a pledge of the 
friendship 

That binds you to me. 



114 



Reveille 

Look well and see; for in thy folded hands 
There rests my life and all I long to be — 
The world lies round us like the desert sands. 

Look well and see. 

For this one moment we have met, be free! 
And loose thy spirit from convention's bands; 
Help me to say what I would say to thee. 

Soon must I go to other, distant lands; 
May I not take this knowledge then with me, 
That there is one who cares and understands? 

Look well and see! 



115 



Good-bye 

Good-bye to tree and tower, 
To meadow, stream, and hill, 
Beneath the white clouds marshalled close 
At the wind's will. 

Good-bye to the gay garden, 

With prim geraniums pied, 

And spreading yew trees, old, unchanging 

Tho' men have died. 

Good-bye to the New Castle, 
With granite walls and grey, 
And rooms where faded greatness still 
Lingers to-day. 

To every friend in Mallow, 
When I am gone afar, 
These words of ancient Celtic hope, 
"Peace after war." 
116 



Good-bye 

I would return to Erin 
When all these wars are by, 
Live long among her hills before 
My last good-bye. 



"7 



In Remembrance of Cork 

Fd live again those summer days 
I took the train from Mallow town 
To crowded Cork — the busy quays, 
And Father Mathew looking down 
Across the bridge where hurrying cars 
Will clatter by, and sway and swerve, 
While trams, with noise of jolts and jars, 
Come clanging round the sudden curve 
To Patrick Street. 

I often shopped 
Along that broad and pleasant row 
Of buildings: here I stopped 
To buy a book writ long ago 
By some dead bard of Celtic song, 
Or scholar from the "Scholars' Isle"; 
But even now the time is long 
When last I walked that happy mile. 
118 



In Remembrance of Cork 

Yet still there comes before my eyes 
The sight of streets I have not seen 
Since under brilliant Flemish skies 
A thousand Irish swords have been 
Unsheathed at sound of Freedom's name, 
When, for a tale of Belgium's woe, 
The hardy Irish soldiers came 
To fight as centuries ago. 

And still I hear the city bells 
Peal sweetly on the evening air, 
And see once more the Irish dells, 
Where late lay autumn everywhere — 
The autumn of another land 
Widespread beyond the western sea — 
Then, by the grace of Memory's wand, 
I'm safe beside my lovely Lee! 



119 



Maid of the West 

O grey-eyed maiden of the west, 

What is it that you see 
Upon the ocean's tranquil breast, 

Where soon the sun will be; 
Is it a dream of long ago 

Stirs in your memory? 

An ancient dream of Fairy mounds 

And stately Fairy men, 
And Fairy minstrelsy that sounds, 

Half-heard, throughout the glen, 
Where bright the mountain streamlet flows, 

And leaping, flows again? 

But now the light is fading fast, 

White mist the valley fills, 
While Night he: kerchief grey has cast 

Across the purple hills, 
And God at evening stills the fret 

Of our too childlike wills. 
120 



Lullaby for a Wakeful Child 

Little Lady, why do you wake? 

The moon will shine till Day doth break 

Over the top of Galte Mor, 

Driving the dreaded Night before 

His rosy fingers, his golden glance. 

Across the stream he'll gaily dance, 

Along the valley and up the hill, 

Peep above your window-sill 

To see if you are still asleep 

When cocks have crowed and young hounds leap, 



121 



From a Garden Bench 

MORNING 

The call of daws in the tower, 
The sun through the leaves of the trees, 
The bud that bursts into flower — 
The morning is bringing me these. 

EVENING 

The hurry of birds in cloudland, 
The breath of wind in the trees, 
The call of gulls in ploughed land — 
The evening is bringing me these,, 



122 



To One in Kerry 

Hid by the hills, encircled by the sea, 
Wait for the happy moment when God wills 
That I may come again and set you free, 

Hid by the hills. 

Here it is evening, and the twilight fills 
The little room where, though but distantly, 
I hear the murmur of the Kerry rills. 

Thus Love hath bridged the sea's immensity, 
And with a vision all the clamour stills 
Of my sad heart, which for a while must be 

Hid by the hills. 



123 



At Parknasilla 

At Parknasilla blue the river lies 

Beneath the bluest of all Irish skies; 

Green rise the mountains from the river-breast, 

Where wheeling sea-gulls for a moment rest, 

And then dart upward with loud, mournful cries. 

Over the islands the long twilight dies; 
A heron, like a great grey figure, flies 
Along the inlet to the star-bright west 

At Parknasilla. 

O place of beauty, which at least defies 
Time's sovranty! When will our happy eyes 
Again behold those islands, shamrock-dressed 
And garlanded with seaweed; last and best 
The moon, like a huge Fairy lantern, rise 

At Parknasilla? 



124 



The Listeners 

{With a copy of Walter de la Mare's Book) 

We too have been the listeners ; we have heard 
The everlasting voices of the sea 
Murmur round Erin's shore caressingly, 
The gentle wood-note of a hovering bird, 
The angry storm-wind in his strength, who 

stirred 
The leaves and branches of the trembling tree 
With patter of sharp rain unceasingly 
Across the landscape by grey dimness blurred. 

This echo still sounds faintly in our ears, 
As Fairy music which is heard no more; 
Pale grows a vision bright in former years — 
Brown rocks and seaweed of the Irish shore — 
WeVe naught but memories, and the listener 

hears 
No sound from Nature in the city's roar. 

125 



The Stowaway 

Love came over the mountains laughing in wild 

delight 
To see the shining level sands, a plain of white. 

Love heard the wavelets murmur and felt the 

breeze blow free 
From the boundless western ocean to hills of 

memory — 

The ancient hills of Erin, where many men have 

died, 
Cuchulain's hardy heroes, the brave Fiana's pride. 

Love not long would linger by wave-kissed sun- 
beat shore, 

But stepped with youthful courage on ocean's 
sparkling floor. 

126 



The Stowaway 

The little waves upbore him and broke in curl- 
ing foam 

At touch of gentle footsteps, and laughed that 
Love should roam. 

Love sped ever onward, where a ship steamed 

from the bay 
Bearing Patrick Carroll from the sight of Molly 

Shea. 

Love sailed with his shipmate to a distant for- 
eign land ; 

And the Irish hilis to Patrick seemed always 
near at hand. 

For the wand of Love is mighty and dispels di- 
viding sea; 

And the touch of Love's like her touch on hills 
of memory. 



127 



To One Also Long Absent from 
Ireland 

Come with me for a moment to the land 

We both have loved, and, loving, hence have 

sung, 
Where, nestled on her bosom, we grow young 
Despite her age. Her children understand 
The mystery: her mountains and her strand, 
The ruins where the hardy weed has sprung, 
And, best of all, the mists about her flung 
Like a great mantle from God's sheltering hand. 

Come with me! for the unwearying teacher, 

Time, 
Soon turns another page ; beauties we have seen 
Are dimmer, as the landscape when the rime 
Thickens the pane; we forget where we have 

been 
Because of changing seasons ; what late was prime 
Is now December — our sight is faint, I ween. 

128 



Memories — December, 1916 

Green are the meadows, hills, and fields 

Of lovely Erin ; greener still 

The memories of summer days 

We passed beneath gnarled ancient trees, 

Thick-leaved, through which the sunlight falls 

On long and tangled grass where deer 

Graze through the days, 

And give no heed 

To changing fates of men and nations. 

The river's eddying pools sweep on, 
As if their dark depths held a secret — 
A mystery of nature known 
To none who wears mortality, 
The voiceless message of the dead 
Who died for Erin, at home, abroad, 
Now one with her forever. The wind 
Will whisper of them, and the sun 
Reveal a portion of their glory. 

129 



Memories — December, 1916 

Deep in the vat of war, the world 

Is plunged. O may there be new wine 

Of life pressed from the ravaged vineyard! 

Thus may an ancient land re-born 

Gain strength to find a truer faith 

In more unselfishness, and those 

Who thought not for their country join 

With men who loved her, but forgot 

Their love because of bitterness 

Toward men who knew her not — the jewel 

Of the western world. Then we shall find 

New-made Erin, glorious and kind. 



130 



In the Moonlight 

The Fairies dance the livelong night 

Across the moonlit hill; 

The moonbeams dance along the lake; 

The western wind is still. 

The waters make a little sound 

More sweet than music far — 

Oh, let me fly across the world 

To where the Fairies are! 



131 



If I Had Wings 

If I had wings, then would I fly away, 

Like a strong-pinioned sea-bird, where distance 

brings 
The sea and sky together, making me say, 

"If I had wings!" 

From that island where enraptured Beauty flings 
Her coloured cloak of everlasting May 
On mountains, meads, and hawthorn-hidden 
springs, 

I'd gather, as the birds do every day, 
A gift of these immortal lovely things, 
And, flying homeward to your heart, I'd stay, 

If I had wings. 



132 



Homeward Bound 

To Queenstown harbour come great ocean ships 
Decked out with flags which the strong sea-wind 

whips 
To prim rigidity, while sea-gulls scream 
About the vessel's wake, and puffs of steam 
Break from the whistle, as the tender draws 

away 
A throng of passengers: some back to stay 
The summer months at home in Kerry, Clare, 
Or Cork; others with lordly tourist air 
Seek what they've read about — where tourists go: 
Killarney; Blarney; Avoca's Vale, Wicklow; 
Dublin; Belfast. But they will never see 
The vision of great Erin's mystery — 
Which even now is hidden in that cloud 
Creeping round yonder mountain like a shroud, — 
Hear Ireland's wail within the sea-bird's cry. 
It is a lovely summer night, and I 

133 



Homeward Bound 

Stand looking from the carriage window; the 

train 
Starts slowly; lights twinkle through the air 

which rain 
Has made the softer, and the hills are changed 
To purple, then to black; they seem arranged 
By some great child who moulds a map in play. 
Darkly the waters glisten; we glide away; 
The picture passes, and I settle down. 
Two hours more, — and then loved Mallow 

town! 



134 



A MASQUE OF FLOWERS 



Copyright, 1917, by Norreys Jephson O'Conor 

All rights reserved, including rights of production 
and adaptation 



TO 

C. B. E. 

in gratitude 



A Masque of Flowers 

The following Masque had its inception In 
the desire of a friend to teach a group of children 
folk and popular music of a high order ; the text, 
therefore, has been built about the songs, the 
words and music of which may be found in two 
books obtainable from the Boston Music Com- 
pany, 26 West Street, Boston, Massachusetts, 
both containing songs intended for use in 
schools. These books are: "Fifty Rote Songs," 
Collected and Edited by Dr. Archibald T. Davi- 
son and Thomas Whitney Surette, for the Boston 
School Music Series, published by the Boston 
Music Company; and "Songs of the British 
Islands," Selected and Edited for the Use of 
Schools by W. H. Hadow, published by J. Cur- 
wen and Sons, Limited, London. The book of 
rote songs is intended for use in Grades I, II, 
and III of the Boston Public Schools, the Roman 

137 



A Masque of Flowers 

number after each title indicating for what grade 
the song is intended. The songs in the British 
volume are divided into groups: Elementary, In- 
termediate, and Advanced ; for which I have used 
the abbreviations EL, In., and Ad. The songs 
mentioned in the text are suggested as having 
been found successful in an actual production, 
but different or additional songs may be used. 

The Masque was first given on the lawn of a 
country house, the stage being provided with a 
natural background of pine trees. There was, 
of course, no curtain. A space at the side of one 
of the trees gave the actors the advantage of 
one more entrance than might be feasible in the 
average outdoor production, but in the following 
text I have limited my stage directions to en- 
trances at right, left, and back. 

Grown people played the parts of the mortals, 
and the dream figures of the Sun, Moon, Eve- 
ning Primrose, Pine Tree, Water-Lily, and 
Fairy. To have adults among the Flowers was 
thought better, that they might add to the vol- 
ume of sound during the singing, and guide the 

138 



A Masque of Flowers 

children in the dances. These dances, like the 
songs, may be elaborated to suit any particular 
group of people giving the Masque, and may be 
accompanied by a violin or piano off stage. 

The costumes were of the simplest, made of 
cheese cloth, muslin, and paper. The Flowers 
wore either smocks or ordinary dresses, with pa- 
per headdresses to indicate the particular flower 
each represented. The stage properties were a 
box covered with pine boughs to represent the 
grassy mound, and a cot covered with green 
denim, the feet concealed by cut branches, to form 
the Queen's bower. A flower-bed at hand made 
the background for the bower and added a touch 
of colour. 

A MASQUE OF FLOWERS 

PERSONS OF THE PLAY 

MORTALS 
THE QUEEN 

Eleanor, her handmaiden 

THE POET 

139 



A Masque of Flowers 

DREAM FIGURES 
A FAIRY 

THE MORNING-GLORY 
THE EVENING PRIMROSE 
THE WATER-LILY 
THE ROSE 
THE MOON 
THE SUN 
OTHER FLOWERS, FAIRIES, etc. 

Scene: The Queens garden. The Queens 
bower, left; a grassy mound in the centre of 
the stage, back. The Poet enters as Pro- 
logue. 

POET 

Good friends, it is now no more the fashion to 
have a prologue, than it was in Shakespeare's 
time to have the Lady the epilogue. But I bid 
you put aside the customs of the present and hark 
back with me when gentry tripped a masque on 
lawns of Merry England to words of a popular 
poet, and music by Purcell or Henry Lawes. 

140 



A Masque of Flowers 

Accept me, then, before the other actors, to tell 
the story of the masque. 

This recounts a dream within a dream. A 
Queen of romance walks in her garden with 
Eleanor, her handmaid. Eleanor is trying to 
persuade her mistress to forget a certain Poet, 
now abroad on an important mission. The 
Queen has promised to wed the Poet upon his 
successful return; but he is five days overdue. 
Eleanor seizes the opportunity to suggest that 
the Queen look with favour upon Sir Lionel. The 
Queen, firm in her faith, dismisses Eleanor, and 
settles herself with a book in her bower. Soon 
she falls asleep. A Fairy, sent from whoever 
may be guardian of true lovers, comes to her 
bearing a dream — the story of the Morning 
Glory and the Sun. 

The Flowers, asleep in the Queen's garden, 
wake to find among them a new sister, the 
Morning Glory. She tells them of a being, shin- 
ing, golden, who has appeared to her in her 
sleep. So beautiful has been the vision, that she 
must seek the world over until she finds the 

141 



'A Masque of Flowers 

dream figure. The Evening Primrose suggests 
the Morning Glory may have seen the Moon, 
who is to be found in the ring where Fairies 
are dancing. With staff and cloak, therefore, the 
Morning Glory sets out on her search. The 
Moon proves not to be the person the Morning 
Glory is looking for, so that she goes next to 
the Pine Tree, then to the Water Lily, then to 
the Rose, and finally returns to the garden at 
evening, unsuccessful in her quest. The Flow- 
ers try unavailingly to comfort her. All then 
join hands and sing their evening hymn before 
going to sleep. The Moon glides through the 
garden, raising her hand in benediction over the 
sleeping Flowers. Soon a bright figure appears 
in the distance, drawing nearer and nearer, while 
the Moon slips off behind the trees at the en- 
trance of the Sun. He selects the Morning 
Glory as his flower, and the twain go off to- 
gether, the other Flowers singing their praise. 

The Queen rouses herself, sure of the change- 
lessness of love. She is none too soon, for the 
voice of the Poet is heard in the distance, and 

142 



A Masque of Flowers 

he enters to kneel at her feet. She raises him, 
while the figures of the dream steal in at the 
back to share her happiness. 

(At the conclusion of this Prologue, the 
Poet goes out back. The Queen and 
Eleanor enter right,) 

ELEANOR 

O put away all thought of him ; for he 

Is overdue these five days past. Poets 

Forget as easily as doth the earth, 

Which, harrowed one year, in the next is green 

And smooth, as though no ploughman ever 

whistled 
In the world. 

QUEEN 

Yet did he promise he would come, 
Successful from his mission, and assure 
Our wedding, when the sound of voice and viol 
Will float from here throughout my happy 
kingdom. 

*43 



A Masque of Flowers 

ELEANOR 

Madam, forget him. Is not Sir Lionel 
More goodly? He hath won each tournament 
These twelve months past ; he is a man of action. 
How many an emprise hath he wrought with 

skill, 
Going from deed to deed and pausing not! 
Each deed is like a catapult drawn back 
To hurl the next with greater force more far. 
Your poet turns from idle task to task 
More idle. He scattereth, as in a wind 
The sower, when the seed is blown afield — 
A song grows here and there which no man 

listeth. 

QUEEN 

Thou seest as the world, which plucks a rose 
Saying, "How fair!" when there may be within 

it 
A greedy canker gnawing at its life. 
With no more sure a gaze the world will look 
Upon a man apart from men, and say: 
"He fears the arduous task his fellows cope with, 

144 



A Masque of Flowers 

The struggle and delight of battle"; when he 
May bear a weight heavier than armour, fight 
Battles bitterer than the wars of men, 
Unconquered in the face of conq'ring weakness. 

ELEANOR 

Madam, I sought only to give thee counsel 
That thou mightst win thyself the more renown. 

QUEEN 

{Going to bower) I'll trust my poet. This day 

will he return, 
Perchance ; there are many hours yet till even. 
Give me my book; this is a fairy place 
Where I would read awhile — and thou mayst go. 

ELEANOR 

Once more thou wilt be lost in pretty dreams 
Amid bright trees which bear no fruit of action. 

{Eleanor, after giving the book to the 
Queen, goes out back. The Queen reads, 
smiling at intervals. After a time the heat 
overcomes her and she falls asleep. A 
Fairy enters at back, walking about the 
145 



A Masque of Flowers 

Queen and waving her wand over her. 
As the Fairy speaks the following verses, 
the Flowers enter softly at right and cast 
themselves upon the ground as though in 
slumber.) 

FAIRY 

Mortal Lady, lost in love, 
I am here thy faith to prove. 
Soon a vision thou shalt see, 
Sent from God's Divinity 
That thy faith may still be sure. 
Love for thee shall be the door : 
Passing through it thou shalt find 
All things lost to finite mind — 
How the flowers love as thou, 
And for each love is enow; 
Yet to each a love apart 
Hidden in that flower's heart. 
Play thy part now in the play ; 
Wake to joy at close of day! 

Episode i : The Garden. 

{The Fairy waves her wand over the 
146 



A Masque of Flowers 

FlowerSj and they begin to waken. She 
then sings, "Where the bee sucks' 9 
[British Islands, No. 69 — Ad. Page 64.] 
She repeats the chorus, the Flowers join- 
ing in. As she finishes the song, she 
glides out back, leaving the stage to the 
Flowers and the sleeping Queen.) 

EVENING PRIMROSE 

O Flowers, see, we have a new sister — the Morn- 
ing-Glory ! 

{The Flowers clap their hands in glee.) 

Go, each one of you and greet her. First, the 
Forget-me-not. 

{The Evening Primrose names the sev- 
eral Flowers in order, each going up as 
named and kissing the Morning-Glory , 
the Evening Primrose going herself last. 
The Flowers then join hands and dance 
round the Morning-Glory . At the close 
of the dance the Morning-Glory speaks 
as follows.) 

147 



A Masque of Flowers 

MORNING-GLORY 

Brothers and sisters, I have had a dream. 
Some one bright and dazzling and all dressed in 
gold came and took me in his arms and woke me 
with a kiss. Do you know who this could have 
been? 

(All the Flowers seem puzzled, and all 
but the Evening Primrose shake their 
heads.) 

So fair was the vision that I must seek the world 
until I find the bright stranger. 

EVENING PRIMROSE 

You may have seen the Moon ; she is in the ring 
where the Fairies are dancing. 

MORNING-GLORY 

Thanks, sister. I shall start at once upon my 
journey. 

EVENING PRIMROSE 

Poppy, bring her a staff and bag. 

(The Poppy goes out back and returns 
148 



A Masque of Flowers 

immediately with a staff, on the end of 
which is hung a bag.) 

Pansy, find her a cloak. 

{The Pansy goes out and returns with 
a cloak, which she puts round the shoul- 
ders of the Morning-Glory, kissed her 
good-bye. The Morning-Glory then 
kisses all the other Floivers and goes off 
left, the Flowers crowding to that side of 
the stage after her, and waving farewell. 
All the Flowers go off left.) 

Episode II: The Fairy Ring. 

{The Morning-Glory enters left, laying 
her staff down under a tree. She then 
takes her place at the front of the stage 
on the left, where she can watch the Fairy 
revels without interfering with them. 
The Fairies enter from back singing, 
"From Oberon in Fairyland/' [British 
Islands, No. 3 — El. Page 3.] Behind 
the Fairies comes the Moon as Queen. 
1 49 



A Masque of Flowers 

She stands on the grassy mound at the 
back, presiding over their revels, while 
they dance and sing. The French folk- 
song, ff Au clair de la lune" may now 
be sung and interpreted in action as an 
interesting interlude. At the conclusion 
of this, the Fairies romp with one another 
until the Moon speaks.) 

MOON 

Stay, let the dance go on ! 

{The Fairies then sing and dance ff The 
Bridge of Avignon." [Rote Songs, No. 6 
— I. Page 4.] As they finish the song 
the Fairies all go out left, leaving the 
stage to the Moon and the Morning- 
Glory. The Morning-Glory then runs 
up to the Moon, gazes intently at her, and 
runs back to her place, shaking her head 
disconsolately. She stands discouraged 
and in thought as the Moon goes out left, 
then picks up her staff and goes out after 
her.) 

150 



A Masque of Flowers 

Episode III: On the Journey. 

{The Flowers enter left and group them- 
selves by the Queen s bower. The Morn- 
ing-Glory then enters left and sits down 
near the grassy mound. The Flowers 
sing "The Nightingale/' [Rote Songs, 
No. 30 — II. Page 22.] While they 
sing, the Morning-Glory looks about her 
as if searching for an unseen bird. At the 
close of the song, she rises and goes out 
right. The Flowers remain on the stage.} 

Episode IV: The Fine Tree. 

{The Fine Tree enters back, bearing be- 
fore him a large pine bough. He stands 
at right of stage while the Flowers sing 
the first verse of "The Pine Tree." [Rote 
Songs, No. 33 — II. Page 23.] During 
the singing the Morning-Glory enters left, 
crosses the stage to right front, and takes 
her position half facing the Pine Tree. 
She curtseys to him as she passes. When 
151 



A Masque of Flowers 

the first verse has been sung, the Morning- 
Glory speaks.) 

MORNING-GLORY 

O Pine Tree, I have had a dream. Some one 
bright and dazzling and all dressed in gold came 
and took me in his arms and woke me with a kiss. 
Do you know who this could have been? 

{The Flowers sing the second verse of 
"The Vine Tree" before the Pine Tree 
answers. ) 

PINE TREE 

It may have been the Mountain. There he 
stands, strong and glorious. 

MORNING-GLORY 
{Shaking her head) No. 

PINE TREE 

The water gleaming in the light may be what 
you are seeking. Go and ask the Water-Lily. 

{The Morning-Glory curtseys to the 
Pine Tree and goes off as she entered. 
152 



A Masque of Flowers 

He goes out back, as the music off stage 
begins "The Meeting of the Waters" 
The Flowers stay on the stage,) 

Episode V: The Water-Lily. 

{The Water-Lily enters back and sits 
near the centre of the stage. The Morn- 
ing-Glory enters and goes through the 
same stage business as in the previous epi- 
sode, asking the Water-Lily the question 
she asked the Pine Tree. In answer, 
either the Water-Lily or the chorus of 
Flowers sings, "The Meeting of the 
Waters." [Rote Songs, No. 44— III. 
Page 33. British Islands, No. 23 — El. 
Page 23.]) 

MORNING-GLORY 

(Shaking her head) No. 

WATER-LILY 

Perhaps the sunlight striking the windows of the 
house is what you are looking for. Go, and ask 
the Rose! 

153 



A Masque of Flowers 

(The Water-Lily and Rose go out to- 
gether, the Flowers still remaining on the 
stage.) 

Episode VI : The Rose. 

(Carrying a wild rose in her hand, the 
Rose enters and seats herself in the centre 
of the stage. The Flowers sing "The 
Wild Rose: 3 [Rote Songs, No. 40— III. 
Page 30.] As an interlude the song may 
be interpreted in action as follows, while 
the Flowers are singing. A boy dressed 
as a peasant enters right, twirling a staff. 
Catching sight of the Rose, he drops 
his staff and walks about her in admira- 
tion. He approaches and kneels beside 
her, leaning forward as if to pluck the 
flower from her hand. She raises a warn- 
ing finger and he draws back, only a mo- 
ment later to pluck the flower. The thorns 
prick him; he drops the flower and goes 
off in tears, right. At the conclusion of 
the interlude, the Morning-Glory enters 
154 



A Masque of Flowers 

as in the previous episode to ask her ques- 
tion of the Rose,) 

ROSE 

O Morning-Glory, it is evening now. Go back 
to your garden and the person you seek will, may- 
hap, come to you. 

(The Morning-Glory and the Rose 
leave the stage hand in hand, and are fol- 
lowed a moment later by all the Flowers.) 

Episode VII: The Home-coming. 

(The Flowers come again to the Queens 
garden, entering at right and crossing the 
stage to look out left, as if waiting for 
some one. From the left enters the 
Morning-Glory, discouraged.) 

THE FLOWERS 

Have you found the person you sought? 

(The Morning-Glory shakes her head. 
The Flowers come up and kiss and try to 

155 



A Masque of Flowers 

comfort her. The Evening Primrose 
speaks.) 

EVENING PRIMROSE 

Let us sing our evening hymn. 

{All join hands and sing, "The Little 
Dustman/' [Rote Songs, No. 14 — I. 
Page 9.] As the Flowers sing the last 
words, they sink to the ground asleep. 
The Moon glides into the garden, rais- 
ing her hands in benediction.) 

Episode VIII: The Dream Realized. 

{In the distance at right, the Sun ap- 
proaches slowly and majestically. As he 
enters, the Moon glides off left. The 
Flowers stir uneasily and waken. The 
Sun goes to where the Morning-Glory lies 
a little apart from the other Flowers, 
kneels beside her, and kisses her. She wak- 
ens, and he leads her down stage centre, 
as the Flowers sing, "Believe me if all 
those endearing young charms." [British 

156 



A Masque of Flowers 

Islands, No. 42 — In. Page 46.] The 
Sun and the Morning-Glory go off left, 
the Flowers crowding to the side of the 
stage and waving after them. A moment 
after they, too, go off left.) 

{The Queen now wakens) 

QUEEN 

Ah me, IVe had a lovely dream! The Sun 
Is stealing off behind the western mountains : 
But now, O Sun, at last I know thy secret ! 

{A mans voice is heard off stage at the 
back, and the Poet enters saying or sing- 
ing the following. As he repeats the third 
stanza, he kneels at the feet of the Queen, 
who has risen and advanced to the centre 
of the stage to meet him. For the fourth 
stanza she raises him, and they stand hand 
in hand while the figures of the dream en- 
ter at the back and pass across the stage, 
singing softly, "Believe me if all those 
endearing young charms.") 
157 



A Masque of Flowers 

POET 

Dost thou love me, Lovely Lady, 

Fairer than the sea 
Beneath the wave-kiss'd rocky headland, 

Below the green and windy lea? 

Dost thou love me, Lovely Lady, 

Tenderer than the dew 
On the heavy-hanging flowers — 

Yellow primrose and larkspur blue? 

Dost thou love me, Lovely Lady? 

Wilt thou trust to me, 
As the waters trust the shingle, 

Or swaying branches trust the tree? 

Dost thou love me, Lovely Lady? 

Wilt be ever true, 
As the birds are to the Summer, 

Following her the whole year through ? 

QUEEN 

No need for words ; the music in our hearts 
Must fill the world, and all men stop to hear it. 

(The actors trip off, and the Masque is 
at an end. ) 

158 



SONGS OF LOVE AND LIFE 



At Eastertide 

Love is not old, but lives above; 
Triumphing over Death lives Love: 
Once Flesh, and seen of mortal eyes 
Pointing the way to Paradise, 
By Death Eternal Life to prove. 

Now pipes the plover, coos the dove, 
The snipe is lost in azure skies, 
Up from the sea the salmon move: 
Love is not old. 

Throughout the world Love lives again 
The happy bird, the humming bee ; 
The ancient changeless mystery, — 
Love's gift of Life, Love's yoke of Pain. 
O joyous Earth, sing loud the strain 
Love is not old! 



161 



Hortus Inclusus 

Hail sheltered garden! 
A treasure fair you hold, 
More rare than gold, 

A flower folded up, 
Even as the cup 

Of morning-glories, 
Ere the new-risen sun 
Opens every one. 

A tender minister, 
Love will come to her; 

She will unfold; 

And flowers everywhere 

Will be less fair. 
162 



Light of My Heart 

Light of my heart, all life is calling 
To us to rise and play our part: 
Why should we tremble in fear of falling, 
Light of my heart? 

Sorrow, fled like the wind at even, 

Fled afar till another day, 

Will come again as the wind from Heaven. 

Unafraid, stand we united, 

Facing to-morrow, not future years ; 

Then safe are we, if then benighted. 

Light of my heart, when Love is calling, 
Why seek to learn what hell not impart? 
Love's hand shall keep our feet from falling, 
Light of my heart. 



163 



Oblation 

Round the cape of a sudden came the sea, 
And the sun look'd over the mountain's rim: 
And straight was the path of gold for him, 
And the need of a world of men for me. 

Robert Browning. 

Did you but love me, I could win the world, 
And bring new courage to the hearts of men, 
And, with the magic of a poet's pen, 
Retell the beauty of green hills dew-pearl'd. 
Swift through the sunlight, with my wings un- 

furl'd, 
Fd rise above this mean, low-lying fen 
Caird Earth, and come into the angels' ken, 
Who once proud Satan to destruction hurl'd. 

All this Fd do, though forc'd to stand aside 
From the great race that other men must run, 
And walk alone along the harder path. 

164 



Oblation 

But if, at last, I held you as my bride, 

Td be more joyous than the lusty sun 

Who part of God's own wondrous radiance hath. 



165 



On the Beach 

Keep tryst, as the sun does with the open sea, 
The mountain-top with the grey morning mist, 
The dew with the flowers on the outspread lea : 

Keep tryst. 

The moon has met the waters; they have kiss'd, 

And will love on for all eternity; 

When we are one with dust Love shall persist. 

Take thou the love that God has given to thee, 
And find therein the spirit we once miss'd, 
The shadow of God's love — with Him and me 

Keep tryst! 



166 



The Wind Is in the Tree-tops 

The wind is in the tree-tops, 
The sheep are on the lea; 
O come and walk the merry world 
With me! 

The yellow sun is flaming 
Above the green-clad hill, 
Dancing on the gleaming river 
Swift and still. 

For freshness of the morning 

The birds are in delight; 

Long are the daylight hours, and short 

The night. 

O give me of your lips' 
Sweet wine. Turn not away. 
So shall we dream in wintertime 
Of May. 

167 



Service 

Songs which I made for you, but may not sing, 
Because Life bids me put my harp away, 
Weaving my dreams with tasks of every day 
Until we come to a sequester'd place, 
Where you and I may live alone with Love, 
Watch Life and his gay pageant passing by 
Like a bright river flowing steadily 
Beneath a mountain's solitary height! 

I give you all these songs I have not sung, 
And ask you 'mid Life's busy turmoil, "Bend 
To my singing, dearest, till the journey's end, 
When Life and Love shall find the selfsame 
grace." 



168 



All Saints' Day 

For all Thy saints who dwell this day with Thee, 
When Nature with a brilliant pencil paints 
The world with symbols of Eternity 
For all Thy saints, 

I make this prayer; for every one who faints 
Beneath the burden of what life should be 
And is not, feels the clay's restraints: 

O Lord, grant that we walking faithfully 
'Mid worldly struggles, free of worldly taints, 
May win the joy that waits eternally 

For all Thy saints. 



169 



To the Mother of My Children 

Did you not hear them on this Christmas morn, 
Our happy children, laughing on the stair 
To see their toys : the soldiers and the horn, 
The doll with moving eyes and curly hair? 

Since you have heard their voices ringing clear — 
Our happy children who now only seem — 
Could you turn from me in a future year 
To one who might embody what you dream ? 

Could you thus leave our children fatherless? 
I too have borne the sorrow, stress, and strain; 
Should I not share the joy which comes to bless 
A father, not alone a mother's pain? 

God knows our children; and to us hath sent 
This lovely vision in His mercy mild: 
We now are parents; with our lives is blent 
New joy from Him who was Himself a child. 

170 



Evensong 

O shepherds' Piping, herald of the Night 
Who comes with Silence up the coloured vale, 
Treading how gently, clad in greyish white, 
Poignantly, Piping, sound your reedy wail ! 
For Day departed moves in funeral train 
Tended by Twilight, and, in deepest rose, 
The splendid Sunset melts beneath the main 
While sweet the Sea-wind with cool softness 

blows. 
As when a mother gathers to her breast 
The child who frets for Day's remembered smart, 
Now Light fades quickly in the ashen west, 
And Night-peace falls across my troubled heart. 
Flutes, for the night through let my mind be still, 
And God keep safe with Him my stubborn will! 



171 



